The Second Element I: Camera Obscura
by Tyraa Rane
Summary: Mêlée Island seems to have it in for Guybrush Threepwood, mighty pirate, and the Voodoo Lady has passed on a cryptic but dire warning for him to be wary. And as if that wasn't bad enough, Elaine keeps locking him out of the house.
1. Act One: Combine One Part Mystery

_Disclaimer: Monkey Island, the places and characters therein are copyright LucasArts. I own none of these characters and do not make any money from this._

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"_Revenge is a dish best served cold." --Anonymous_

**Camera Obscura**

_Act One: Combine One Part Mystery..._

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Elaine stormed into the mansion and slammed the door behind her. A few seconds later, Guybrush walked nose-first into the door. When he recovered his bearings, the mighty pirate opened the door, walked through it properly, and shut it. He found Elaine sitting on the couch, her arms folded across her chest, pointedly ignoring him. Her eyes were doing their best to burn a hole in some unidentified spot in the wall across the room.

"Elaine," he began, but was cut off by a door slamming somewhere upstairs. _Oh great,_ Guybrush thought, _it runs in the family._

Horatio Torquemada Marley appeared at the top of the stairs and quickly surveyed the scene. He had--at Guybrush's insistence--finally taken to wearing pants, but hadn't shaved off his beard, and despite his new taste in clothes still looked like a hermit. "All right, Squinky," he said, coming slowly down the stairs, "what'd you do now?"

"I...um..."

"What _didn't_ he do is more like it." Elaine sighed and flicked a lock of hair out of her eyes. "First he steers us off course--"

"I sneezed!"

"Then he tears a hole in the sails--"

"I was trying to put out the fire...that I started...in the kitchen."

"And _then_ he decides to tell me that I look fat!"

"Plunderbunny, you know that wasn't what I meant, you're eight months--"

"Don't remind me, please, I feel like a bloated zombie."

Governor Marley came the rest of the way down the stairs and stood between the two, staring at Guybrush with a critical eye. "Now you listen here, Squinky. I only get to see my granddaughter once a month--by the way, Elaine, once this pirate great-grandchild of mine is born you'd better start coming 'round more often--and I don't want any arguments unless they're necessary!" He shook his head. "And I don't want you two breaking my front door, either! Understand?"

Guybrush sighed, dejected. "Yes, Grandpa."

"Good!" Now he turned around to Elaine, ignoring Guybrush entirely. "Now tell me darling, how'd your numbskull of a husband make you late for your monthly visit _again_?"

Guybrush scratched the back of his neck and waited for a few minutes, only half-listening to the story Elaine was telling her grandfather--which wasn't entirely true, but he didn't feel like interrupting her. The last time he'd tried that she'd thrown a deck chair at his head.

In fact, he was almost getting used to being completely ignored during these monthly visits. They seemed to have established some sort of a routine--as soon as Grandpa Marley was through reprimanding him for whatever he felt like reprimanding him for that month, Guybrush would leave them alone and wander off somewhere. Tonight, he decided, he would visit the Scumm Bar.

"Bye, Elaine!"

"Of course he couldn't just--oh. Try not to get yourself killed, Guybrush dear."

He sighed again. "Right, Elaine."

* * *

Since the incident with Ozzie Mandrill almost a year ago, the Scumm Bar had been rebuilt. Ignatius Cheese, the Scumm Bar's owner, had insisted that they tear down "tha' sissy Lua Bar," which resulted in great chaos and a severe grog shortage that lasted for weeks. Which, naturally, made the Scumm Bar a very popular place once it was finished--some nights there weren't even enough tables for customers to drink themselves under.

On this particular night it was packed. Guybrush opened the door and immediately had to elbow his way past two very fat, very smelly pirates, and then squeak past a trio in the process of drinking themselves silly. He tried to fight his way to the bar, but it was useless. The crowd only grew thicker in that direction. The air was heady with the scent of smoke, grog, and sweat; Guybrush coughed as the strong aroma invaded his nose. He thought he could taste the Scumm Bar's famous pretzels in the back of his throat, too. _Bleh, salty. Needs grog._

Guybrush had to stand on the tips of his toes to see over the heads of some of the pirates, and people kept bumping into him. He'd been rudely elbowed in the back without so much as a "'scuse me" more than once already.

"Look boy," snarled a tall, gangly one-eyed pirate he had the misfortune of being shoved into, "are ye gonna stand there or are ye gonna sit down? Take a seat, for god's sake, and get out of our way. We've got drinkin' ta do."

"Right. I'll--um--get right on it." He nodded nervously and started looking even harder for a seat, or a face he recognized. The combination of smoke and the bar's dim lighting made it nigh impossible.

"Hey, lad, over here!" Guybrush peered over the head of another pirate to find the voice that had to shout to be heard over the general din. Ignatius Cheese was sitting just a few tables away, a half-full bottle of grog resting protected in one hand. He was gesturing for Guybrush to come and join him. The mighty pirate waved one arm about to acknowledge the invitation and started pushing his way through the crowd.

"Oof--excuse me--pardon me--look out—sorry!"

He eventually made it to the table with little damage and slid into a seat. It was only then that he noticed Carla in the seat next to him, her nose looking practically glued to the table. "Err, hello Mr. Cheese...and, err, Carla."

Carla mumbled something incoherent under her breath. Mr. Cheese grinned. "Aye, and it's good to be seein' ye around, Guybrush. Carla and I were just talkin' about ye, weren't we Carla?"

"Grtzpitzg."

Guybrush arched one eyebrow at the former Sword Master of Mêlée Island. "Is this what happens when you talk about me? Boy," he said slowly, giving Carla an experimental poke. She swung one dark hand out in an attempt to swat him away, but missed.

The other pirate laughed until tears gathered in his good eye. "Aye. We were just reminiscin' on the old times."

"Like our exciting adventures to Lucre and Jambalaya Island?"

"Aye. Seems Carla here isn't too keen on reminiscin', though."

"Gee..." Guybrush poked Carla again. She responded with a disgruntled snort. "How could you tell?"

His former navigator chuckled again. "So what brings ye here to the Scumm Bar, eh? Thought ye'd be spendin' all yer time with the wife. I heard about yer news, by the way." He grinned even wider, revealing a couple of solid gold teeth, and winked. "'ratulations."

"Mmf." The grunt may as well have come from Carla. Guybrush rubbed his temples and sighed. "If we're going to talk about Elaine, I'd better have a drink first."

Mr. Cheese passed him the bottle without a second thought. Guybrush uncorked it and, silently hoping that none of the Scumm Bar's resident germs were lingering on the bottle, took a swig. His blue eyes promptly went wide, his ponytail stood up straight, and his face turned a bright shade of red before he managed to force the grog down his throat. Then he coughed up a couple of green bubbles that floated up into the air before popping with a scent of grog that only added to the Scumm Bar's overall aroma. Guybrush recorked the bottle and passed it back over to Mr. Cheese, beating himself on the chest and clearing his throat.

"That bad, eh?"

"Good god, _yes_!" he half-coughed in a high-pitched, raspy voice. "How can you _drink _that, much less get drunk on it?"

"It's an acquired taste," Mr. Cheese offered with a shrug. "Though I was askin' about the situation with the wife."

"Oh, right--Elaine." Guybrush looked at the bottle as if contemplating whether or not he wanted another drink, but decided against it. "I've got troubles there, Mister Cheese."

"If ye're here on a night like this, I can say ye do." He held up the bottle. "Want another one?"

"No--no thanks. I think the first one's doing a fine job of eating through my stomach on its own."

"Suit yerself, then." Carla was starting to grope about blindly for the bottle, so he pulled the cork out and handed it to her. "So what's troublin' ye?"

"In a word? Everything." He rubbed his temples and coaxed his hair back down into its normal position. "I can't do anything right, Elaine thinks she's fat and you know how Elaine is, and I don't think Grandpa Marley likes me, either. He and Elaine both seem to think it's all my fault."

Mr. Cheese started to nod sympathetically, but stopped, confused. "_What's_ all yer fault, lad?"

"Everything."

"Ah, ye're exaggeratin'."

"I am not! It's true! We hit a storm two months ago, off the coast of Plunder, and Elaine swore for days that it was my fault. Had half the crew convinced that I was some sort of voodoo priest; one of them kept begging me not to blow him off the deck every time he did something wrong."

He chortled. "It's about time ye started inspirin' somethin' like fear inta yer crew. As for Elaine, well--it'll clear up right quick, don't ye worry. Ye've only got a month to go 'fore ye're a father, right? After that, she'll appreciate ye a lot more. 'Course, right before that she'll likely be screamin' for yer head, but..."

"Oogh. _Please_ tell me you're stopping right there, Mr.--hic--Cheese." Carla had hoisted her head off the table with a little help from the bottle, the contents of which were now eating their way through the floor. She swayed uncertainly, then caught herself again and settled into a half-slouch, her head cradled in the palm of one hand. Her dark brown eyes were bloodshot, and her clothes, Guybrush noticed, were ragged and frayed at the edges. They looked, in fact, identical to the ones he'd seen her wearing on their last voyage together.

"So," she slurred, shifting her gaze towards him, "Fripweed."

"Carla," he answered calmly.

"Fripweed."

"Err--how's that cushy government job working out for you?"

Mr. Cheese flinched. "Ooh, lad, don't ask her about--"

"I'll tell you how it's--hic--going, Brushguy...Threepbrush...whatever your name is." She pointed an accusatory finger at him and Mr. Cheese sighed.

"Aw great, here she goes again. Bartender! More grog!"

Carla continued undaunted. "You--hic--had your wife sign them contracts for me an' Otis. Only problem was, she was _dead_ when she signed 'em! Government wouldn't--hic--honor 'em. Said that only licensed goverble...governmental officials could legally sign them contracts, and raising a licensed govberbble--aw, you know what I mean--from the dead doesn't--hic--count. Since then, I've been—hic--hic--"

"Drinking yourself into oblivion?" Guybrush offered meekly.

"Yeah. That." Just then, the bartender managed to fight his way through the crowd to their table and dropped a bottle on it, then hurried away again. "Hey! More grog!" She grabbed the bottle and started trying to pry the cork out with her teeth. Guybrush watched her and winced.

"I usually jus' let her drink 'till she passes out," Mr. Cheese said. "It's usually better that way. One time I didn't, and she started standin' on the table and singin' some sorta nasty song about you--'course, she got the words all mixed up, but it was still a mess."

"Ouch," Guybrush said, wincing. Carla, meanwhile, gave up trying to get the cork out and settled for smashing the bottleneck open on the edge of the table. "I'm surprised she hasn't dissolved into a puddle of grog-like goo yet."

"Give 'er another month, she'll do it yet."

"How long has she been like this?"

Mr. Cheese shrugged. "'Bout as long as ye've been off sailin', I'd say. That was when she started drinkin', at any rate--she's just gotten worse this past month."

"Oh. I wish there was something I could do..."

"I think ye'd best stay outta her life, lad, if it's all the same. It's in a right mess already." Guybrush bit his lower lip and nodded, sighing.

They all sat for a while, not saying anything. The noise from the conversations and arguments around them did more than fill the silence. Guybrush couldn't help eavesdropping on a conversation between a young pirate and one of the tavern wenches--he was trying to ask her out on a date, but the tavern was so noisy she couldn't understand a word he was saying. She seemed to think he was trying to tell her something about something he'd eaten. Guybrush couldn't resist a smile; they reminded him--with a faint pang of nostalgia--of he and Elaine all those years ago.

Over by the entrance, a group of pirates were arguing loudly over their shares of some treasure. It looked like it might degenerate into an all-out fight in very short order; even the apparent captain was hollering insults.

A clap of thunder overhead stilled the conversations for a brief moment as everyone peered up at the ceiling. They were silent, waiting--a few seconds later, rain began to patter against the roof. A few pirates groaned, but they all went back to drinking and talking shortly afterward.

"Oh, that's just great," Mr. Cheese grumbled, taking a swig of grog. "Now they'll all be wantin' to stay in here 'till the storm clears up. We'll be out of grog before the night's over."

"Especially if Carla keeps drinking."

"Hey!"

"Sorry. So, Carla--" another rumble of thunder--"what's Otis been doing?"

"Otis?" She rubbed her bleary eyes and shrugged. "Dunno. After he found out we didn't have _jobs_--"

"Sorry!"

"--I think he got the next--hic--ship outta here. Dunno where he went. Prob'ly smarter'n I was, clearing out." At this her face seemed to close up and she glared at him, sullen and angry. "Now go 'way. I've got--hic--drinking to do."

Guybrush scratched the table absently as the rain became more and more persistent. It was running down the windows of the bar in sheets. "I hope I don't have to walk back to the mansion in this," he muttered.

A small fight broke out near the door and gradually started spreading outward to encompass more and more pirates. Packed as the place was, hardly anyone could escape having at least one punch thrown at them. Guybrush ducked as a mug went flying towards his head.

"Hey!" Mr. Cheese stood up and started hobbling his way through the crowd, shoving men out of the way. "What're ye all, daft? Startin' a fight when we ain't got room ta breathe?" The rest of his words were lost in the swirl.

Guybrush looked over at Carla, who didn't seem to be in any sort of mood for conversation. "Well, I guess I'll go then--if I can make it to the door."

"Yeah," she muttered, "you--hic--do that. Take a short walk off a long pier...or something like that. How's it go?"

"Long walk off a short pier."

"Right! Do—hic--that."

"Okay," Guybrush said, standing up. Of course, he had no intention of doing what Carla had suggested, but he felt it best to humor her all the same. "Bye, Carla. Drink one for me."

She arched her eyebrows and swayed uneasily. "They're all for--hic--you, Fripweed."

"Gee, thanks." He scooted away from the table and started for the door, elbowing his way through the crowd again. As he went, he peered over the heads of some of the shorter pirates, trying to get a glimpse of the path ahead. The fight _looked_ like it had been stopped, but you never could be sure, someone could still be throwing punches somewhere, and he'd never know it until--

His thoughts were cut short by a blinding flash of light and a simultaneous explosion overhead. The ground shook beneath him, his vision had dissolved into swirling spots of color, and every last hair on his body seemed to be standing on end. The flash was over in a split second, but the aftershocks kept rolling through.

When he recovered his wits, Guybrush found that he was lying on the floor. He also found that he could barely hear anything. Pirates ran past him, got to their feet around him, stampeded through the door--all without making more than a whisper of noise. _Strange,_ Guybrush mused, staring at the ceiling, _it's like being underwater._ His vision started going hazy, like someone had draped a veil over it. _Oh. This can't be good, can it?_

Mr. Cheese's face appeared over him through the haze and Guybrush found himself being tugged to his feet. He was shouting something, but Guybrush couldn't make it out--he'd never been good at reading lips, and he still couldn't hear much of anything. "Sorry," he shouted, though to his ears it was nothing more than a whisper, "you're going to have to speak up!"

Mr. Cheese gave him an odd look and tugged him along towards the door. There was quite a bottleneck there; everyone was trying to get out through the one door, except for a few who'd been clever enough to break out through the windows. Guybrush's vision got hazier, and he coughed at the same time, tasting something acrid and burning at the back of his throat. _Oh. Smoke, _he realized belatedly.

His hearing started to return as they inched their way towards the door--first as nothing more than a sharp, painful ringing, but eventually he was able to distinguish voices and sounds through it.

"Lightning strike--"

"Fire in the back--"

"--place'll burn to the ground--"

And then Mr. Cheese was speaking to him, giving him a good shake. "Ye're in shock, just dazed, c'mon, ye're gonna be fine, we're gonna get ye out of here, lad."

"The windows!" Guybrush answered in return. Mr. Cheese gave him another odd look.

"Lad, what're ye on about?"

"No, no--out through the windows!" He waved at one of the broken side windows, through which several pirates were now tumbling.

"Oh. _Those_ windows! Well why didn't ye say so, lad?" He gave Guybrush a sharp tug and started for the window. "C'mon!"

They climbed out through the window and sprinted away from the Scumm Bar as fast as they could. A safe distance away, they stopped and turned around to survey the damage. Mister Cheese let out a curse. The Scumm Bar's roof was in flames, and the fire was quickly swooping down on the walls. Tendrils of white-hot flame snaked down the bar's sides. In the dim starlight, the Scumm Bar cast an illumination on the scene better than any torch.

"The rain's stopped," Guybrush remarked, looking up at the clear sky, puzzled.

"Damn bad time for it to do that." Mr. Cheese looked around at the pirates fleeing the scene. "I hope everyone got out."

Guybrush looked back down to earth. "What about Carla?"

"Damn, I don't know, she--" But at that very moment, Carla burst out the Scumm Bar's door, screaming bloody murder.

"Run for your lives! Holy mother of god, it's a sign, a sign! I'll never drink grog again!" She ran out of sight, still screaming.

"Well, that's one way to sober a person up." Guybrush attempted a half-smile, but stopped at seeing the expression on Mr. Cheese's face. "Is there anything we can do?"

"Yeah. We can try to get that damned fire out. C'mon." He turned to the fleeing crowd, plus those who had begun to gather to watch the bar burn. "I want volunteers for a water line! _Yesterday! _Guybrush lad, go find us a coupla buckets. Should be some in the Voodoo Lady's shop; if not there, then the harbor. Hurry up! And you all--single file, startin' from the docks! Good god, do I have to tell you _everythin'_?"

Guybrush sprinted off towards the International House of Mojo, but didn't have to go much farther than a few feet. Two large, gleaming silver buckets were thrust into his face so quickly he almost walked into them. "Err, thanks," he said, taking them--and finding himself looking at Elaine's hard set, determined face. "Elaine?"

"Brilliant deduction, Guybrush." She stared at him. Her lips were pressed into a very thin line. "So there's a fire at the Scumm Bar?"

He nodded. "I think someone said it was lightning. Err, I mean, a lightning bolt hit the Scumm Bar."

"I figured as much, what with the freak storm." She paused, suddenly realizing that she had almost gone back to being on pleasant speaking terms with the man she was supposed to be furious with. "So--anyway--what are you standing around for? Take those buckets to the volunteers!"

Guybrush started to go but stopped. "Elaine," he said, gesturing to her larger-than-normal stomach, hidden beneath her blue maternity dress, "are you sure you should--"

Her eyes narrowed into thin slits. "Guybrush Ulysses _Threepwood_, if I can climb up to a crow's nest at seven months, then I can coordinate a water line at eight. Now will you _stop_--oh, never mind!" She bit her tongue and pushed him out of the way, muttering under her breath. Guybrush followed meekly after her.

Upon reaching the line of volunteers, Guybrush handed the buckets to those standing by the docks and weaseled his way into a spot next to Mr. Cheese. The buckets started working their way down towards him. He saw Grandpa Marley arrive with more, and Elaine began walking up and down, shouting orders. She pointedly avoided looking in his direction; it was as if he wasn't standing there at all.

"Still mad at ye, is she?" Mr. Cheese asked.

"Yeah--oof--" he passed a full bucket over to his former navigator--"she thinks I'm being overprotective."

"Well maybe ye are, lad. Yer first kid, isn't it?"

Guybrush passed along another bucket. "Yeah, and probably our last, too. I don't know if I could take another nine months of this."

Mr. Cheese snickered. "Ah, we'll see about that, lad." He glanced over at the bar and sighed. The flames were now overtaking a better part of the roof. "This ain't doing any good. It's too slow." He turned and shouted for Grandpa Marley. "Hey! Governor! The bar'll burn down by the time we're through here--I say we call a free-for-all."

Marley wandered over, made a quick assessment of the situation, and nodded. "You--you--and you--" he pointed at three pirates--"go get more buckets. Everyone else, grab a pail and throw it on the bar!"

They followed Marley's directions and began beating back some of the flames that had made it to the walls. One pirate threw his shirt into the harbor and used it as a wet rag to, literally, beat out the fire. Several others followed his example. As Guybrush ran back to the docks to fill his pail again, Grandpa Marley caught him by the arm.

"I want to talk to you, Squinky, after this is over." He gave Guybrush a significant but unreadable look and then let him go again. "Don't forget."

"Right." Guybrush sighed. _What could he _possibly_ want? Elaine's probably told him some story again..._ He handed his bucket over to another pirate and moved away from the chaos, wiping his forehead. His hand came away sweaty and soot-stained. "Oh, great. Now I'm a mess, too."

"Greetings, Guybrush Threepwood." He looked up, surprised to find the Voodoo Lady approaching him. She was a very short Jamaican woman who made up for her lack in height with excessively tall hats. The one she was wearing now was dark brown and blended in with her skin.

"Err, hi." Guybrush swallowed. Her very presence never failed to intimidate him--or maybe it was the aroma of various voodoo potions and ingredients that followed her wherever she went. "What are you doing here?"

She smiled dreamily. "I sensed that you would have need of me." She motioned to the Scumm Bar, and as he turned back towards it, he arched both eyebrows in surprise. Large rain barrels, seemingly summoned out of nowhere, hovered just above the flames--and dumped gallons of water onto them. They never seemed to run out. Smoke from the extinguished fires started to drift up in large quantities all around them; Guybrush had to cover his mouth with one sleeve.

"Wow," he said, the words muffled through the fabric. "That's some voodoo spell."

The Voodoo Lady continued to smile. "Indeed. I foresaw a need for it yesterday and had it prepared in advance."

"Oh. So..." Guybrush fished around for something to say. "You're still on Mêlée Island?"

"I am wherever I am needed, Guybrush."

"Ah." He cleared his throat. The fires were nearly extinguished now and the volunteers were standing back and letting the Voodoo Lady's spells finish the job. When he looked back at her, he was surprised to find her staring at him with a hardened expression he'd never seen before. "What?"

"I take it," she began slowly, in a half-whisper, "that you were in the Scumm Bar at the time of the incident?"

He shrugged. "Yeah, but what's that got to do with--"

"I suspected as much. Come with me, Guybrush." She turned and walked away. Beaded bracelets on her wrists clacked together as she went. Guybrush cast one last glance back to the Scumm Bar--Elaine, Mr. Cheese and Governor Marley seemed to have things well in hand, so he followed after the Voodoo Lady. He wasn't at all surprised when she led him through the open doors to the International House of Mojo and into its dark interior.

It hadn't changed much since the last time he'd been inside it. There were a few more voodoo trinkets thrown around, and in one corner there was a particularly large pile of rubber chickens with pulleys in their middles, but other than that it remained the same. The floor was hardwood, but the light from the voodoo torches gave it an unhealthy green glow. Actually, they gave _everything_ in the store an unhealthy green glow.

The Voodoo Lady settled herself into her chair and smoothed out her long green dress. Guybrush stepped over a couple of voodoo dolls, repressing a shudder at the sight of the limp little things, and stood in front of the Voodoo Lady's chair. "So what's this got to do with--"

"Patience!" she snapped, waving a hand. "You can't learn everything at once."

"No, but I can try," Guybrush answered innocently.

Her lips twitched into a quick smile, though she closed her eyes and appeared to be concentrating hard. Guybrush kept watching her. After a few minutes of this, her eyes snapped open again, every trace of mirth erased from her face. "The short tempest Mêlée Island has just endured was no normal storm."

"I'll say. It came up out of nowhere and then disappeared."

"Will you _please_ stop interrupting me?"

"Sorry."

She continued. "Likewise, the lightning strike which hit the Scumm Bar was much more than a mere accident. I am not surprised to learn that you were in the bar when it occurred. I would take heed, Guybrush Threepwood. There are things in this world more powerful than you could ever imagine--and it seems that one of them has not taken a liking towards you. Be wary."

And with a bright showy flash, the Voodoo Lady disappeared. Guybrush was left blinking the spots out of his eyes for a while. Then he walked back outside--still trying to understand her cryptic warning.

* * *

The walk back to the Governor's Mansion took Guybrush longer than it normally would. He took his sweet time, wandering the path slowly and staring at the scenery--that is, the ocean to his left, almost twenty-five feet below. He didn't want to go back to the mansion and talk to Grandpa Marley, but he didn't want to avoid it, either. When he'd left the House of Mojo, the last of the flames were gone--Mr. Cheese was busy picking through the charred husk that remained--and Elaine and Grandpa Marley were both gone. He could only assume that they were waiting for him back at the mansion.

Finally it could be delayed no longer; he stood at the front door with one hand on the handle. Guybrush took a deep breath and decided, with a small measure of confidence, that no matter what, he was going to give Grandpa Marley a piece of his mind. He pushed open the door and walked in.

Grandpa Marley was sitting at his desk, hastily scribbling away at some paper or another when Guybrush entered. The mighty pirate took a quick survey of the bare foyer--no Elaine. Then he looked back at Grandpa Marley, who still hadn't acknowledged his presence. He cleared his throat.

Marley looked up and set his quill aside. "Wondered when you'd get here. Running off like that, no respect, none..." He got up, cracked a couple of knuckles and pointed at the striped chaise lounge. "Sit down."

Guybrush sat. The little bubble of confidence he'd felt earlier started to deflate.

"Now Squinky, I want to have a few..._words_ with you about my granddaughter. It seems to me--"

Seizing onto an opportunity with absolutely no forethought whatsoever, Guybrush interrupted him. "No Grandpa, I want you to listen to _me._" This small outburst seemed to shock the older man into silence, so Guybrush continued. "I've had enough of you constantly picking on me every time Elaine and I come for a visit. I only agreed to these visits at all because I know Elaine wants to spend time with you, and I love her, so I want her to be happy. But do you have to turn it into some sort of Insult Family Reunion? Grandpa, I know you don't like me, and I know you probably don't like that I married Elaine, either--but that's what happened. I married Elaine. And unless you want to sic your lawyers--" he repressed a shudder--"on me, that's the way it's going to stay."

Guybrush stopped, his tirade finally exhausted, and looked up at Grandpa Marley. To his surprise, the man was chuckling. "That wasn't meant to be funny, Grandpa. I was serious."

He kept chuckling. "I know, I know, but--Squinky, I wasn't going to chew you out. I was _going_ to apologize. Seems to me my granddaughter's been a bit unfair to you lately, and I know I haven't helped things. When I pictured Elaine's pirate husband, I didn't quite imagine a scrawny kid like you--but you'll do, I suppose. She doesn't seem to want it any other way." He looked at Guybrush's wide-eyed expression and chuckled again. "Now, do you want me to send for those lawyers, or are you going to go upstairs and talk to my granddaughter? You might not owe _me_ an apology, but you sure owe _her_ one."

He swallowed and fidgeted in his seat. "Do I have to?"

"It's either that or the lawyers," Marley shot back quickly. "And quit whining, or I'll rethink my opinion of you."

"Okay, okay..." Guybrush got up with a definite march-to-the-gallows look about him. "I'll _try_. But I don't think she'll want to listen."

"Oh, she will."

"I hope so." He paused at the bottom of the stairs, one hand resting on the banister. "And...Grandpa? Thanks."

Marley grinned and suddenly became very interested in his paperwork. "Don't mention it, Squinky."

* * *

Elaine looked up when he came in. She was already in bed, reading the copy of _The Joy of Pillaging_ Guybrush had bought for her on Booty Island. Her face remained expressionless, but her dark blue eyes studied him intently. There was still a smudge of soot on her forehead, disappearing up into her hair.

Guybrush shut the door and swallowed the lump in his throat. "I'm welcome to sleep here instead of the couch, right?"

She turned a page of the book, not looking away from him. "I suppose. If you clean up, first."

"Yeah...good idea," he said, looking down at his soot-stained hands. He walked over to the washbasin on the other side of the room and began meticulously scrubbing the grit from his face and hands, all the while avoiding touching the washbasin itself. It _was_ porcelain, after all.

He heard Elaine snicker behind him. "What's so funny?"

"Oh, nothing." She snickered once more and went back to reading. Guybrush finished washing, changed, and slid into bed next to her. There was an uncomfortable pause.

"Um, Elaine," he began, just as she set her book down and interrupted him.

"Guybrush, I've changed my mind."

"You mean I have to sleep on the couch after all?" He did his best to look pitiful, which wasn't all that difficult.

She sighed. "No, I meant about the baby's name. I think we should name him after my grandfather."

"But...but...I thought you said it was going to be a _girl_!"

"Yes, and two weeks ago I was convinced we were having an it. What's your point?"

Guybrush closed one eye and scratched his head. "Well...I suppose you're right. I just hope we can figure this out before you go into labor. Otherwise, the poor kid'll have more names than they'll know what to do with."

Elaine sighed again and picked up her book. "I don't think that will be his only problem, Guybrush."

He let an uncomfortable silence settle down before he tried talking to her again. "Look, Elaine...I'm sorry. I've been kind of overprotective lately, I know--" she snorted--"but I just wanted to keep my plunderbunny safe." He looked at her hopefully. "Oh--and you've got a smudge of soot on you still."

This she reacted to. "I do? Where?"

"Right--no, here, I'll get it..." He wet his index finger and leaned over, quickly wiping the smudge away. "There."

She looked up at him, her eyes so calm and innocent, and his pulse quickened. His hand hung suspended by her left ear, all but forgotten. "Thanks," Elaine said quietly, shattering the moment. "And apology accepted." She kissed his cheek.

"I love you, Elaine."

She grinned. "Love you too, plunderbunny." Setting her book aside, she blew out the candle. "Now I want to go to sleep--before Horatio starts kicking my spleen again."

As she rolled over away from him, Guybrush laid back and stared up at the dark ceiling. "What kind of name is _Horatio_?" he mused aloud.

"Don't start, Guybrush."

* * *

Her dress was white. It was also very plain and simple, unlike anything she'd ever owned. The next thing Elaine noticed was that her stomach was flat--something she had not seen for five months, when her pregnancy first began to show. She was also barefoot. The gravel and dirt prickled and stung the bottoms of her feet as she turned in a circle, taking in her surroundings.

She was in a cemetery. Tombstones loomed up out of the thick fog, seeming to leer at her, all bent at odd angles. Ivy covered some of them. She took a few, hesitant steps forward--and almost ran into a large tombstone. "Oh!" she exclaimed, then quickly slapped a hand over her mouth. Her words echoed back to her through the fog and she felt guilty for disturbing the silence of the graveyard.

The tombstone, she noticed then, was very beautiful. It was carved of dark marble, along with the stone angel sat atop it. Her wings were stretched out as if she were about to take flight, but her hands were clasped tightly in her lap and she gazed down, sorrowfully, at Elaine. She peered back up at it. It was very lifelike...in the dim half-light, her long dark dress almost seemed to shimmer and move. Elaine bent down to examine the tombstone's front, looking for a name, but age had rubbed away any traces of it. There was only a large smudge remaining. She sighed and was pushing herself back to her feet when she felt a touch of something wet against her hand.

At first she thought it was raining. But when she looked at her hand--which had been resting on the tombstone--she saw two red droplets resting there. Blood.

She sucked in a deep breath and shook them off, wiping her hand on a strand of ivy. She had just turned to go when she heard the unmistakable _plip, plip _of liquid striking stone. Very slowly she turned back around and, ignoring the blood now on the dark marble, looked up at the angel again.

Two wet streaks lined her face, traveling from the corner of each eye, down her smooth marble cheeks, to her chin. As she watched, two more bloody tears left the angel's eyes and slid down her face to land on the tombstone.

Horrified, Elaine turned and ran from the foggy graveyard.

Her feet carried her through the fog down a long gravel path she couldn't see, twisting and winding its way through the shadows. Somehow she always knew which way to turn to stay on the path, and it led her eventually to an old church.

The church would have been beautiful in years past, but now it was little more than a ruin. All the stained glass windows were shattered from the inside out--glass littered the dead grass--and one of the tall spires had broken off from the church's roof and fallen down to the ground. The limestone walls had weathered, exposed to countless years' wind and rain. They had crumbled, and in several places the roof had fallen in. The only things which remained perfectly intact were the church's twin doors. They were oak, stained a dark brown and finished so that they positively gleamed, even in the dim light. Twin rusted rings served as door handles.

Without meaning to, her steps carried her to these doors, and she found herself standing there with a hand hovering over one of the door handles. Steeling herself, Elaine tugged on the door handle--the door opened wide enough to allow her to slip through without even a creak--and she stepped inside the church.

Despite its ruined exterior, the church's interior was remarkably intact. Tall stone pillars created a wide hallway, leading up to an altar shaded in darkness. Beside each pillar was a brazier filled with hot coals and a faint, flickering flame, barely enough to dispel the shadows. The rough stone floor was swept clean of dust and dirt but there were also, she noticed, no pews. The ceiling was high above her head, lost in the dark shadows.

Hesitantly, she took a step forward. The door swung shut behind her with an echoing clang and the braziers around the altar flared to life, and Elaine gasped.

At the altar stood a tall masked figure, cloaked all in black. A grinning death's mask rested where his face should have been. In his right hand he held a bloody dagger. But lying before the figure, tied to the sacrificial slab, was... "Guybrush," she whispered, staring at the altar with wide, frightened eyes.

Guybrush lay tied to the stone slab by thick rusting chains; only his arms hung free, dangling motionlessly over the sides. Elaine's breath caught in her throat. She hurried forward, feet slapping against the cold stone. The mysterious figure stepped away as she approached as if giving her a respectful distance.

As she drew closer to the altar, the details of the scene came into focus, sharp and painfully clear. At the crook of each elbow there was a narrow slit in the skin, hardly visible save for the blood leaking from it. Blood trickled down each pale arm, twisting and marking out its path, to fall into twin golden bowls.

Elaine swallowed hard and willed herself to look down at Guybrush's face. To her surprise, it was serene--serene, but unnaturally pale. His eyes were closed. "Oh, Guybrush," she murmured, stroking his hair. She dared not touch his skin--she knew already that it would be as cold as ice. Blood continued to trickle into the gold-plated bowls, adding to the already substantial collection.

She took a deep breath and willed herself to look up at the cloaked figure. He regarded her without emotion--save for the twisted leer on his mask. "You did this," she said with more calm than she thought she possessed. He didn't answer, but a cold breeze that blew past her, upsetting the fires in their braziers and stirring her long hair, said more than enough.

_Yes, _it said, _I did._

He reached out towards her and she shrunk away, never quite losing touch with her husband's hair. "Don't," she warned. "You don't need my blood." She bit her own tongue in surprise. _What am I _saying_?_

The breeze blew past her again. _Yes,_ it said, _I do._

"You can't have it!" She leapt back, out of his reach. "I won't let you!"

The figure seemed to watch her for a long moment, head tilted to one side. Then he shrugged his narrow shoulders and picked up the golden bowl closest to him. Now Guybrush's blood trickled onto the bare stone with a familiar _plip, plip_ that sent chills down her spine.

The figure pulled back one cloak sleeve to reveal a pale, masculine hand which he dipped, without hesitation, into the dark blood. Staining the tips of his fingers, he walked over to the wall and began to write. His letters were strong and clear and gleamed wetly in the flickering light. She watched in silence as he wrote letter after letter, word after word.

When he was done, he set the bowl back in its proper place and stood aside. Elaine stared at the writing, her face a mixture of fear and incomprehension. "I don't understand," she said, "what do you mean?"

The figure shrugged and pointed to the wall with one bloodstained finger. She looked at the writing again and read it aloud.

_"Forgive me Father, for I have sinned..."_

* * *

Elaine sat up with a jolt. Her heart was racing and it took a long time to swallow the lump embedded in her throat. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she allowed herself a small sigh of relief. _It was a nightmare_, she told herself, taking in the familiar surroundings of the mansion's guest room. _Only a nightmare._

She slid out of bed and pushed herself, unsteadily, to her feet. Wrapping one arm protectively around her stomach, Elaine walked to the wash basin and peered in. Her own reflection came back to her, clear except for a few grimy spots--soot still drifted in the water from when Guybrush had washed his face. Still, she didn't hesitate in splashing the water over her face. As she dried off with a towel left nearby, she mentally chanted _"only a nightmare"_ over and over again, like a mantra.

But why, then, did the words the mystery man had written on the wall burn so clearly on the back of her eyelids, as if he'd written them there, as well? "'Forgive me Father, for I have sinned.'" She sighed. It didn't have any more meaning for her now than it had in the nightmare.

"It's nerves," she decided at last, going back to bed. Within her she felt her baby kick impatiently, as if he had been rudely awoken, too. "Sorry," she whispered to him.

She looked over at Guybrush and felt reassurance flood through her. He slept on, oblivious, his long blond hair tangled and his mouth hanging slightly open. One arm was outstretched towards her, the other dangled off the edge of the bed.

But when she looked more closely at his outstretched arm, the faint smile that had been gathering on her lips disappeared. She bent down to examine the crook of his elbow and took in a shaky breath. "It can't be..." Elaine reached out a finger and wiped away the dark spot she'd seen. Pushing it around between thumb and forefinger for a moment, she finally touched it to her lips--and coughed immediately. There was no mistaking the strong, copper taste. "Blood? But--oh, Guybrush..." She leaned over and blindly touched his other arm and was somehow unsurprised to find a similar blot there, too.

She wiped her hand on the bottom of her nightskirts and took a deep breath. Horatio kicked her again, harder this time. "It was only a nightmare...but--" She cut the thought off in mid sentence. This, she decided, was not something she wanted to think about, not in the middle of the night. She laid back down and cuddled up to Guybrush, careful not to wake him. He snorted in his sleep and pulled his arm around her.

"It was only a nightmare," she whispered one last time. But she wasn't at all convinced of that fact.


	2. Act Two: Two Parts Conflict

_Act Two: ...Two Parts Conflict..._

* * *

Elaine woke up the next morning feeling as if she hadn't slept at all. She rubbed sleep out of her eyes and sat up, yawning. Guybrush was already awake, she saw, and dressed. He grinned at her when he saw she was awake. "Morning, snugglecakes. Sleep well?"

She flinched, belatedly remembering the night's events. "Not really," she admitted, but didn't elaborate.

"Huh. That's funny, I didn't either. I had some kind of weird nightmare."

Elaine froze with her foot halfway to the floor and stared up at him. He stared back, his face a picture of perfectly blank incomprehension. "What?"

She broke eye contact and stood up. "Nothing, Guybrush." As she moved around the room, gathering up the clothes she was going to wear that day, she kept her back to him. "What was the nightmare about?"

"It was really weird," Guybrush said. "I was staring up at this guy--well, I guess it was a guy--in some sort of mask. And he was mumbling something in some language...I think it might have been French. Or maybe Finnish. Anyway, then I woke up, looked around, and went back to sleep. It was probably something I ate."

"Knowing your cooking, I wouldn't be surprised," Elaine shot back, trying to keep a bantering tone in her voice. But her hands were shaking so badly she had to cling to the edge of the dresser to put a stop to it. "Besides," she continued, "it's just a dream. It's not like it means anything."

"Yeah, you're right." He came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. "Remember that dream you had about the giant salamanders and the singing and dancing monkey?" He giggled. "Now _that_ was weird."

Elaine sighed and rolled her eyes at him, perfectly aware that he could see the action in the mirror. "I _thought_ we agreed to never mention that again."

"Oh yeah...sorry." He grinned mischievously. "So, what are you planning for today?"

"Mmm, I don't know." She slipped out of his grasp and went about getting dressed. "I was thinking about going into town. What about you?" As she dressed, Elaine felt her nerves slowly settle. Not even the dark bloodstain on the bottom of her nightskirts worried her too much. _I'll go see the Voodoo Lady,_ she thought, tying her customary bandana into her hair and fussing with it until she had the perfect ponytail. _She'll know what's going on. It's probably nothing, anyway. Guybrush probably gave us both food poisoning or something silly like that._

"I'm going into town, too," Guybrush said, startling her out of her reverie. "I want to get a look at the Scumm Bar. See how bad the damage is, you know, like that. Do you...do you want to come with me?" He looked at her so earnestly and with such hope that things had finally been reconciled between them that Elaine found she couldn't resist.

"All right," she answered, checking her hair one last time in the mirror. "I suppose so."

* * *

"...So, you see, with all the damage here we'll have to clear this section away entirely and..."

Elaine yawned. She hadn't counted on the outing being this _boring_--or taking this long. Mr. Cheese had hijacked the both of them the minute they'd arrived and insisted they help him "talk things over" with the inspector who had come to take a look at the damage. It turned out to be the inspector who did most of the talking--nearly three straight hours of it, in a droning monotone that fit well with his black tweed suit and shoes, polished until they positively gleamed in the sunlight.

She sighed and gave Guybrush another sharp poke to the ribs to keep him from falling asleep. The inspector continued, scratching his thinning auburn hair. "I think you'll have to rebuild," he said, "and that'll take a while. If we have the contract signed by the end of today, my men can begin work tomorrow."

"But how long will all this take?" Mr. Cheese asked, frowning.

"Oh, no more than a week or three."

"Or _three_?"

"It might even take a month," he continued, ignoring the disgruntled look on Mr. Cheese's face. "It all depends on how cooperative you are, sir, and how fast we are able to work. We do have other contracts with other businesses, you know." He puffed up his chest, earning only a snort from Mr. Cheese and a quiet laugh from Elaine.

Mr. Cheese looked around at the still-smoldering, blackened shell that used to be the Scumm Bar. "Ye just rebuilt the thing not long ago--and it only took ye two weeks!"

"Well, yes," the inspector mumbled, fumbling through a folder for some papers. "But as I recall, we had an intact basic infrastructure to work from at that time and..."

Elaine tuned him out again at that point. Her feet and back were already killing her; she didn't want to add a headache into that mix. She glanced over at Guybrush, whose eyes had taken on a glazed look over an hour earlier. He nodded his head occasionally, some sort of automatic response, but that was the closest he came to actual, human-like behavior.

The inspector launched into a long explanation on why it would cost extra to clear away the current debris and Elaine's gaze drifted over to the International House of Mojo. The nightmare had started to pester the back of her mind again, and she was practically twitching with impatience to slip away and talk to the Voodoo Lady.

"Guybrush," she whispered, prodding him in the ribs once more, "I'm tired. My feet are about to fall off. I'm going to go back to the mansion, all right?"

He looked down at her and blinked a few times to clear away the glazed look in his eyes. "Okay," he whispered back, squeezing her arm. "I think I might come with you; this is worse than Stan's lecture on time shares..." But when he looked over at Mr. Cheese, the man was giving him a flat, "don't-you-dare-go-anywhere-or-I'll-disembowel-you" look. Guybrush swallowed. "Or maybe I'll stay here. See you later."

She nodded and walked away, hearing snatches of a conversation Mr. Cheese had just drawn her husband into. "See, this 'infrastructure' of yers ain't so bad, is it, lad?"

"Err, well, it is sort of...smoldering."

"_Guybrush_--ye're not _helping_!"

Elaine bit her lip to keep from smiling and opened the doors to the Voodoo Lady's shop. As she stepped into its gloomy interior and tried to take in the whole of the shop at once, she realized, with surprise, that it was in more disarray than usual. Empty boxes were strewn haphazardly around the store, and there was a pile of full boxes in one corner. Many of the shop's famous voodoo trinkets were missing--in the boxes, Elaine assumed.

"Hello, Mrs. Threepwood."

She jumped at the voice from somewhere above and ahead of her. She peered into the shadows at the far end of the store just in time to see the Voodoo Lady, tall hat and all, descending a ladder with a box full of unused voodoo dolls.

"Oh, err, hello," Elaine answered. "I'm sorry--did I interrupt something?"

"Not at all. I was merely in the middle of packing." The Voodoo Lady set the box down with a smile and walked over to her usual chair.

Elaine's eyebrows shot up. "Packing? You're leaving Mêlée?"

She nodded. "I sensed that I would no longer be needed here. I've spent far too much time here as it is." She sat down and made herself comfortable in her chair before continuing. "And I suppose you've come here seeking my advice?"

"Yeees..." Elaine said slowly, though she soon started in on the reason why she'd come, nightmare, blood and all, without hardly stopping for breath. The Voodoo Lady listened attentively and nodded her head from time to time.

"--so I was hoping you could help," Elaine finished.

"Hmm." The Voodoo Lady frowned. "Guybrush's dream is not all that uncommon, actually--not anymore. Just the other day I had a young boy come to me with a similar tale...he'd dreamt of a looming face, only to wake a few hours later with blood on his arms."

Elaine tapped her foot impatiently. "So...what is it?"

"Something tied in with the incident at the Scumm Bar, to be certain. I warned Guybrush to be wary. As for _your_ dream, Mrs. Threepwood, I suspect that you were witnessing an afterimage of your husband's dream. You must have a very strong bond with him, to have seen such a thing..." She trailed off, deep in thought.

_She _warned_ him, _Elaine thought, chewing on her lower lip, _and he didn't mention a thing! That stupid--_

The Voodoo Lady cleared her throat and arched one eyebrow. Elaine blushed, belatedly remembering the Voodoo Lady's ability to read minds. "I would suggest," she said, "that you go somewhere easily defendable. If these powers are to strike again, it may be easier to hold them off behind stronger walls than Mêlée has to offer."

Elaine nodded slowly. "There's the fort on Plunder...but do you really think these 'powers' will come after Guybrush again?"

"I cannot say. They may, in which case I would suggest you send him directly to me. He'll know where to find me." She disappeared in a flash of light, though her voice lingered for a few seconds longer. "And do remind him to _be wary_."

* * *

Elaine walked back to the Governor's Mansion with a thousand different plans and thoughts racing through her mind. She was so distracted with figuring out a way to convince Guybrush to leave the island that she hardly noticed when she walked through the doors to the mansion and almost straight into Guybrush himself.

"Oh, sorry," she mumbled and started for the stairs.

"Elaine..."

"Not now Guybrush, I'm busy."

"_Elaine..._"

Something in his voice made her turn around. "What?" she asked, flicking a lock of hair out of her eyes.

"You said you were going back to the mansion," he said, frowning. "But when I came back, you weren't here."

She shrugged. "I had to stop in and see the Voodoo Lady, that's all." She leaned against the stair banister with her arms folded across her chest and watched Guybrush. He sputtered for a while, looked at her, shook his head, and started to pace. Elaine thought it looked ridiculous.

"You _lied_ to me?" he finally managed.

"You lied to_ me_," she shot back.

Guybrush's blue eyes went wide. "When did I ever lie to you, Elaine?"

She bit her lower lip and looked away. "Well," she said, trying to recover, "it wasn't so much a lie, I guess, but you _somehow_ forgot to mention that the Voodoo Lady had warned you about--about whatever it is that set fire to the Scumm Bar!"

"Oh. That." He looked at the ground and fiddled with something in his pocket. "Well...I didn't understand what it meant, and I didn't want to worry you--and I sort of um, forgot about it. I was more worried about whether or not you'd throw me out of the house." He paused, looking back up. "Wait...why did you have to go see the Voodoo Lady? There's nothing wrong, is there? Is something wrong with the baby?"

She sighed. "No, nothing's wrong. Not with the baby, at any rate."

Guybrush rushed forward and enveloped her in a suffocating hug before she had a chance to react. "I'm so glad everything's all right," he murmured, burying his face in her hair.

"I didn't say _everything_ was all right," Elaine answered, making no move to embrace him. "And if you keep hugging me like that you're going to squish the baby."

"Oops." He jumped back. Elaine smiled thinly and smoothed out her dress, then started up the stairs.

"Now listen Guybrush, we need to leave for Plunder Island as soon as possible. I'll explain on the way, but we've got to leave soon. I'm sure my grandfather will understand; he's too busy with state affairs and anyway--"

"No."

Elaine stopped halfway up the stairs and turned around _very_ slowly to face him. Her face screwed up into a mixture of frustration and confusion. "What did you say?"

"I said 'no.'" Guybrush looked as if his legs might give out at any moment. "We're not going to Plunder."

She folded her arms across her chest again and sighed. "Guybrush, love of my life, I don't think you quite understand me. We _have_ to go to Plunder. We need to be someplace defensible in case this force of nature thing that attacked the Scumm Bar earlier decides to come back. Plunder is the best place. I know the Voodoo Lady warned you about this, and she specifically told me to go there. Now we're going."

"No, Elaine." He scratched his head. "We came here to stay until the baby was born, remember? The sea's no place for you to be right now. We need to stay here, where it's safe."

"'Where it's safe.'" She stared at him, narrow-eyed and thin-lipped. _Of all the..._ "Guybrush, why do you have to act like this?"

He blinked and looked up at her, more determined than she'd ever seen him. "Like what? I'm just trying to protect you."

"Exactly!" She waved her arms around as if that somehow proved her point. "I don't _need_ protecting!"

Guybrush sighed, rubbing his eyes. "Look, Elaine, just listen for a minute--"

"Have you even heard a word I've said?" she snapped. "I'm trying to protect _you_ from your own idiocy! But you never listen, do you? The Voodoo Lady tried to warn you, Guybrush, and you're not _listening_! You're too wrapped up trying to be some sort of hero to someone who doesn't need one! And now you're going to get yourself killed or something because you're being too stubborn."

She stopped, breathing heavily, and looked at Guybrush. He watched her through a few stray blond hairs and watery eyes. "Oh god, you're not going to cry, are you? Please tell me you're not going to cry." Elaine shook her head without a trace of sympathy. "I don't know who's the bigger idiot here--you, or me for marrying you."

Guybrush shuffled his feet uncomfortably. "You don't mean that," he said, but without a hint of his usual confidence.

"Yes," she shot back, "I do. You've done nothing but treat me like a porcelain doll since I told you I was pregnant. I can't take it anymore. I thought for sure you'd agree with me this time, since your _life_ is at stake, but apparently I was wrong. Now--now get out of my house."

He made a sort of squeaking noise in the back of his throat. "Um, technically, it's your grandfather's house."

She closed her eyes and sighed. "Fine. Then get out of _his_ house. Come back when you've gotten those plugs out of your ears."

"Okay...bye, Elaine." He watched her for a few more seconds, apparently hoping she'd relent and forgive him, but eventually he shrunk away and out the door with slumped shoulders and a defeated look. Some part of Elaine's mind nagged at her as she watched the door shut, telling her she'd just done a very stupid thing, but she quickly tuned it out by storming up the stairs and slamming a few doors.

* * *

Guybrush wandered aimlessly around Mêlée for a long time. He visited a few old friends, catching up on recent events, but Elaine's voice constantly haunted him wherever he went. _"I don't know who's the bigger idiot here..." _He sighed. "If looks could kill," he mumbled to himself, "I'd be dead on the floor."

_Well,_ offered a voice at the back of his mind, _maybe she has a point. You _have_ been a little stupid lately..._

"I have not!" A few pirates around him started giving him odd, frightened looks. He looked around and chuckled nervously. "Eh-heh...sorry." They edged away from him anyway, and soon he had a clear path all down the road.

He walked through town with his eyes on the ground. He considered going to the Scumm Bar--before remembering that it had burned down and he'd only just escaped Mr. Cheese and his inspector friend the last time. With a shock, he realized that he had nowhere to go. _Well,_ the voice nagged again, _you could always go back to the mansion..._

"And have Elaine kill me? No thanks."

"Hey, Fripweed! You're blocking my view!" Guybrush looked around. Sitting on the porch of the building he had stopped in front of was Carla, looking ragged as ever, though a bit more sober than the last time he'd seen her.

"Sorry." He quickly stepped aside. "What were you looking at?"

Carla smirked. "Pirates over at the Scumm Bar. They've been wandering around for an hour now, shouting for grog. Too bad there isn't any. It all went down in flames." She started to laugh but stopped, seeing the expression on his face. "What's the matter with _you_?"

"Elaine threw me out of the house," he answered glumly.

"I was wondering when she'd finally do that. C'mere, sit down. Just don't talk too loud--I've got a headache like you wouldn't believe."

Guybrush sat. On closer inspection, he found that Carla's eyes were still bloodshot and had a lackluster quality to them that implied too many nights spent drinking. She was staring at him with a strange smirk on her face. "You look like you could use a drink," she said at last.

"Yeah, maybe. Though I make it a point not to drink during the daytime."

Carla snorted. "Since when have you _ever_ had a drink? 'Sides, it'll be night soon. I know where Mr. Cheese keeps his secret cache of grog..." She said the last teasingly, waving a finger around right in front of Guybrush's nose.

Guybrush gently grabbed her by the wrist and pushed the offending finger away. "No thanks. I'd rather not end up a sad and lonely drunkard."

"Is that supposed to be some sort of insult?"

"Um, no. I just..." Guybrush thought fast. "I thought you were trying to stay sober. You know, the whole 'sign from above' and all."

She snorted, the smirk disappearing from her face. "I tried it for about half a day. And you know what? Staying sober's _hard_, Fripweed. 'Specially when you don't have a job. Nope, I've got nothing to do now but lie around, thinking about how I don't have a cushy government job and how much my head hurts." She sighed wistfully. "If only the Scumm Bar were open..."

"You're not the only one thinking that." He pointed over to the ruins of the bar, where a large crowd of pirates were beginning to gather. He couldn't make out what any of them were saying, but they didn't look at all happy.

Carla grinned and tugged on his shirt sleeve. "Hey, that's the biggest group we've had all day! This should be good."

Guybrush strained his ears to listen as one of the pirates approached a harassed-looking Mr. Cheese and started demanding grog. "Now look," the pirate was saying, "we know you've got emergency stores somewhere. Bring 'em out!"

Mr. Cheese mumbled something in reply Guybrush couldn't hear, but the pirate's response was all too clear. "We don't bloody care about no 'past shortages!' You've got grog now, and we're wanting to drink it!"

"Ye'll be drinkin' it and all yer food through a straw if ye don't clear out," Mr. Cheese growled. "Now go on, the whole lot of ye, get off before I send for the Governor. Ye don't want to be in trouble with him, now do ye?"

The group grumbled but eventually began to disperse, though many of them threatened Mr. Cheese with variations of "I'll be back!" Appearing unruffled by such threats, he simply turned around and disappeared from sight.

"I bet they come back with swords next time," Carla whispered to him as the pirates passed by. Guybrush nodded absently, watching the crowd. None of them paid him any attention--expect for one, one of the loudest grumblers, who stopped and stared at him. Guybrush stared back. The pirate in question was rather on the short side, with long black hair, beady black eyes and a strong chin. His pants were green and his shirt was white, a perfectly lurid combination.

Guybrush slowly inhaled and prodded Carla, not taking his eyes off the other man. "Carla...do you see that guy, there?"

"What guy?"

"The one standing--" But in the second it took Guybrush to blink, the man had vanished. He stood up and peered into the departing crowd, but couldn't see anyone short and nasty looking among them. He rubbed his eyes and looked again. Still nothing

.

_Okay Guybrush,_ he told himself, _you've lost your mind. But it's okay. You always knew it had to happen some day. _He walked out into the street and watched as the group slowly thinned, disappearing for parts unknown. _Then again, it wouldn't be hard for a short guy to lose himself in a crowd like that..._

He sucked in another deep breath and looked down at Carla. She seemed amused by the entire thing. "I bet," she said, practically giggling, "I bet that they'll come back with swords and more pirates within an hour. They want their grog, yessir."

"Right...you know Carla, I think we should clear out."

"Aw, but why? It's just getting good!"

Guybrush frowned. "It's going to get ugly, that's why, and--" _--and I'm seeing people who can't possibly alive--_"and I've got a bad feeling about all this. I think we'll be safer some place else. Out of the crossfire."

She saluted him mockingly. "Whatever you say, cap'n. Where to?"

"To the Gov--" He stopped himself before he even finished the thought. There was no way his already wounded pride was going to let him go crawling back there to take another beating. "To, um, Meathook's," he said, shrugging. "It's out of the way, at least."

"Do you suppose Meathook has grog?"

He sighed. "If he does, Carla, you can have it all. I think I like you better drunk."

"_Hey_!"

* * *

Elaine glared at the closed door. "I'm not coming out, Grandpa!"

From the other side, Grandpa Marley sighed. "You're too old for this, dear. _I'm _too old for this. Now come on out. You and I need to have a little talk."

"Oh no we're not! I'm _not_ going to be talked into apologizing to that idiotic monkey!"

"What monkey?"

She sighed. "I mean Guybrush."

"Oh. Well, he _does_ deserve an apology."

"Sure, for being an overprotective, stubborn son of a--"

Marley cut her off by rattling the door knob. "Elaine, just come out and we'll talk, all right? I haven't got time for this; there's something going on in town and I've got to put a stop to it, but I don't want you to leave you here alone and mad enough to break all my furniture!"

Elaine's ears perked up. She thought for a moment, then got up, unlocked the door and opened it. "What's going on?" she asked, coming face to face with her grandfather. "What did Guybrush do now?"

"I don't think it's anything he did," Marley answered with a slow smile. "More like the rest of the island. They're unhappy 'bout the Scumm Bar being closed."

"How unhappy?"

"Mr. Cheese just sent off a whole bunch of them, but he thinks they'll be back. Been harassing him all day." He grinned. "And now that you've opened that door, c'mon downstairs and we'll talk."

Elaine briefly considered slamming the door in his face, but decided against it. It wouldn't be polite. When he saw that she was at least willing to listen to him, Grandpa Marley headed back downstairs with Elaine trailing reluctantly after him. She sat down on the lounge the moment they reached the foyer and stared at the wall, avoiding any attempts at eye contact.

"You wanted to talk," Elaine said after a long pause. "So talk."

"Right then." Grandpa Marley pulled up a chair and sat down, looking at her over the bridge of his nose. "Listen Elaine, I want to ask you a question. And I want you to be honest."

She arched an eyebrow and sat up straighter. "All right. I'm listening."

"What do you _see_ in that kid?"

She laughed. "Is that all? Grandpa, I thought you were going to ask me something import--"

"This _is_ important, Elaine," he interrupted, frowning.

Twirling a lock of hair between two fingers, Elaine looked at him and shrugged. "He's just incompetent enough to be charming, and he _is_ a pirate, just like you wanted. Besides, he'll go to the ends of the Caribbean for me, in case you hadn't noticed. And he's...well, he's adorable, besides."

Grandpa Marley scratched his chin through his beard. "I don't know, Elaine...you two aren't getting along. Haven't been the last four times you've come to see me. The last time you threatened him with a divorce, if I remember right..."

"I was _kidding_, Grandpa!" She sighed. "Well, not quite kidding, but I didn't _mean_ anything by it. I was just sick of him treating me like an invalid and arguing with you."

"Arguing? He told me I fought like a cow and then left."

Elaine snickered. "For Guybrush sometimes, that _is_ arguing. But d'you see what I mean, Grandpa? It's that spark of incompetence that I love. It's just that he's become outright clumsy lately when he's not hovering over me. I don't know what's going on with him, but I don't like it."

"Probably just nerves." Grandpa Marley shrugged and stood up. "Wish he'd quit acting like a damn-blasted fool, though."

She sighed, looking back down at the couch. "Me too, Grandpa," Elaine answered. "Me too."

"So..." He looked down at her with a hint of amusement. "You threw him out of the house for being too clumsy?"

Elaine blushed and shook her head. "No, I threw him out for being an idiot. He knows better than to hide things from me, especially things that might get him killed. I don't know what he was thinking." She frowned, remembering the argument that had put her in such a foul mood.

"Yeah, I heard you two shouting. Well, I heard _you_ shouting, anyway. Half the island probably did, too."

"Was I that loud?" Elaine asked quietly.

Marley grinned. "Darling, I was outside with the gardener and I heard every word you said." The grin quickly faded, replaced by a more serious look. "Now I don't know what that scrawny kid of a husband said back to you, but I don't think it was that bad. I think you might be overreacting just a little."

She opened her mouth to shoot back a reply, but the door to the mansion flew open just then, cutting her off. A short, balding man ran in, panting for breath. "Gov--Gov'ner, ye'd better come quick! They're riotin' down by the Scumm Bar, they are!"

Marley blinked. "Who's doing _what_ now?"

The man paused and collected himself before answering. "Most o'the pirates, Gov'ner. They--they came 'round the Scumm Bar with swords an' all an' told Mr. Cheese to hand over his grog. But he wouldn't do it, so one o'the pirates--some short guy, I dunno who--'e went and broke a window an' the rest o'them followed his lead! An' before we knew what was happening, there's a riot!"

Marley nodded and shooed the man out the door. "I'll be along in a minute. Go on now, get down there--help Mr. Cheese out."

Elaine paled. "Grandpa, you don't think Guybrush is down there, do you?"

"If he's smart he's not," he answered, rooting through the foyer closet.

"I hope he's all right...maybe I should go look for him..."

"Oh no, you're staying put! I don't want both you _and_ him running around like idiots out there. You listen here, Elaine. He may be a stupid, scrawny kid, but he'll be all right. There's just one thing I want you to remember--I've got a feeling that the more you push him away, the stupider he's going to get."

She blinked at him. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Marley tugged on his overcoat and shrugged. "It means ease up on him, that's what."

"I'll...I'll try." She rubbed her eyes, sighing. "Grandpa, if you see him down there anywhere--"

He smiled. "I'll tell him to get his behind back here, don't you worry. Now if you don't mind, I've got riots to stop." Strapping a sword to his belt as an afterthought, Grandpa Marley grinned at her one last time and then stepped out the door.

* * *

Guybrush looked at the door to Meathook's house and sighed uneasily. Beside him, Carla burped and reached for another can of grog. Guybrush glanced back at her with a raised eyebrow. "Don't you think you've had enough, Carla?"

"Nope!" She popped the tab, swaying back and forth. "Built up a tolerance over the past few months. I can drink all I want and not get out of control." She hiccuped. "Well, okay, not _all_ I want, but--"

He sighed. "I get the point, Carla."

Just then Meathook came in, closing the door and locking it. As an afterthought, he also propped a chair up against it as a small barricade. "It's getting right nasty out there. Pirates running all over the island...can't tell who's on what side!" He rubbed some sweat from his brow. "We should be all right in here, anyway. They're not anywhere near here."

Guybrush nodded. "What about the Governor's Mansion?" he asked, worry creeping into his voice despite himself. "Are there riots near there?"

"Nope, not that I saw."

Guybrush sighed with relief. _Elaine should be all right, then. She wouldn't walk out into those riots--I _know_ she wouldn't._ Carla hiccuped again and tossed an empty grog can into a growing pile. "Thanks for letting us stay here, Meathook," he said. "I'm sorry about Carla--"

"No you're—hic--_not_."

Meathook grinned. "Don't worry about it, Guybrush. It's no problem, really. I've been meaning to get rid of that grog for years now!"

"I'm surprised it hasn't eaten through the cans."

Carla grinned at him. "Nope, it's still--hic--good! Want any?"

"No thanks...I prefer to be sober." He sighed. "Especially when weird things are going on."

She nodded and took another swig of grog. "Yep, sober's the way to be, all right. To--hic--sobriety!" Carla lifted her grog can in a toast, only to pass out. Grog spilled out of the can and dribbled down onto the floor.

"Wow," Guybrush muttered, poking Carla, "that's some pretty strong grog you've got there, Meathook."

"Yeah, well, I did say it'd been lyin' around for a few years." Meathook shrugged. "She'll probably have one helluva hangover in the morning, I bet."

"I think she's used to it by now."

"Yeah, I've seen her drinkin' around town a lot lately. Kinda feel sorry for her, you know, no job and all..."

Guybrush quickly changed the subject before his guilty conscience got the better of him. "Say, err, Meathook, you haven't seen a short, mean little pirate running around town, have you? He's wearing a white shirt and green pants."

"Nope. Believe me Guybrush, we'd _know_ if Largo LaGrande was around. Besides, isn't he supposed to be dead?"

He sighed. "Yeah, supposed to be. I thought I saw him today, though."

Meathook's dark eyes widened. "Really?"

"Yeah, really."

"Wow. Well, I still think we'd know if he were around, you know. It's probably just his cousin or something like that."

"Either that or I've gone insane," Guybrush added halfheartedly.

Meathook chuckled. "That's always a possibility. But really, I wouldn't worry too much about it. I've seen people who weren't really there before too, you know. Like that time I saw my long-lost third cousin...or maybe it was my aunt..." he trailed off, muttering to himself.

Guybrush sighed. He could still hear the riots outside--and they sounded to him like they weren't under control at all. People were shouting, and occasionally he heard a gunshot or two being fired. He only hoped they weren't being fired at anyone he knew. Beside him Carla was snoring, and Meathook was now muttering something about his parents. He scratched the back of his head. It was going to be a long night.

* * *

Guybrush woke up the next morning on the floor. It took a moment for him to orient himself; at first he thought he was back at the mansion, but a quick glance around at the wax-stained floor told him otherwise. He pushed himself up into a sitting position and looked around. Sunlight was streaming in through the windows and it appeared to be midmorning, at least. Carla was still asleep where he'd last seen her, sprawled in her chair with her head on the table. Meathook was nowhere to be seen.

"Hey, Threepwood?"

He looked over at Carla and saw that she was actually awake. She'd opened one dark, bloodshot eye and was staring straight at him. "Err, what?" he asked.

"Don't ever let me drink grog that old again, okay? I feel like a whole fleet of ships ran over me."

"Okay. Maybe you'll even give up drinking, and then I won't have to worry about it."

She snorted. "Yeah, right. Get me a job and then we'll talk."

"Right. Um, any idea where Meathook went?"

"Prob'ly went down to town to see what was going on."

Last night suddenly came rushing back to him. Elaine, the pirate who looked remarkably like Largo LaGrande, the grog riots..._Elaine! How could I assume she was safe? Good god I'm an _idiot_!_ He jumped to his feet. "I've got to get into town!"

Carla hauled herself up into a sitting position. "Hey, take me with you! I want to go and see what sort of damage they did last night."

He looked at her doubtfully. "Can you even walk?"

"Sure I can! ...Well, I might need a _little_ help."

He sighed and picked her up carefully, throwing one arm over his shoulders and taking on most of her weight. "Ready?"

"Full speed ahead, cap'n!" She grinned and Guybrush wondered if she wasn't still a bit tipsy. He shook his head at her and started out. Once he got moving, it wasn't very hard at all to half-carry her. He figured that her insides were mostly goo from the grog by now, anyway. They had just gotten out Meathook's front door when she turned to him.

"Hey, Threepwood?"

"What?"

"Is it okay if I throw up on your shoes?"

He blinked. Was she actually being _serious_? "Um, no."

"Okay." She shrugged and went silent as they started across the bridge connecting Hook Island to the rest of Mêlée. As they crossed, Carla looked around. "Hey, Threepwood?"

He tried very hard not to snap back a reply. "What, Carla?"

"Does the bridge seem to be creaking ominously to you?"

Guybrush tilted his head to one side and listened. The bridge swayed in the breeze, occasionally creaking, but not in any ominous manner. "Nope. Sounds normal to me."

"I must be hearing things then. Heh. Man, what a hangover."

They were three-quarters of the way across the bridge when the ropes holding it up on the Hook Island side snapped. It swung down towards the sea below and Guybrush barely had enough time to grab hold of a loose board to hang onto--screaming like a girl the entire time.

It was Carla who snapped him out of it. "Threepwood, do you _mind?_ My head! And soon to be the rest of me, too--god, your hand's all sweaty. Ew." She was clinging for dear life to his one free hand and was swaying precariously in the light breeze.

Guybrush took a deep breath and pulled himself together. "Okay, we'll get out of this somehow..." He looked up at the land just a few feet overhead. "Somehow," he repeated, trying to concentrate. Unfortunately, he'd never done well under pressure like this.

It took him a minute, but eventually he came up with a plan. He looked over his shoulder at Carla and called out, "Carla, I need you to try something, okay?"

"Yeah, sure. Your hand's really sweaty, you know that?"

He sighed. "Yeah. Just listen--I'm going to try to lift your hand up above my head, okay? I want you to grab onto the bridge and pull yourself up. Do you think you can do that?"

She shrugged. "It's better than the alternative."

Guybrush nodded. "Okay then, here goes." He summoned up all the courage and strength he had and started pulling. It was hard work--Carla wasn't so light when she was dangling, and he had to work on not losing his grip on the bridge, too. Finally, sweating from the strain and feeling like his arm was about to rip itself out of its socket, he managed to raise it just a few inches above his head. Carla latched onto the bridge immediately. Once he was sure she wouldn't fall, he let her hand go.

Carla quickly started pulling herself up, hand over hand, while Guybrush watched. She made it to the top and grabbed onto one of the rope anchors, pulling herself over the rest of the way. She disappeared from sight, but he could hear the thud as she hit the ground and moaned.

"Ugh!" she muttered. "My head!"

Guybrush waited for a few moments, then shouted up, "Um, Carla? You want to--um, you know--help me out here?"

"Wha? Oh--oh yeah." Her head popped back over the edge of the cliff. She reached down and waved her hand around in front of his face. "Grab my hand."

He used his free hand to grab onto hers, and when she offered him her other hand, too, he let go of the bridge entirely and let himself hang free. She grunted and tugged, trying to drag him up without sliding down herself. His hand slipped once--_Carla was right, my hands _are _sweaty_--but he managed to grab hold of Carla's again easily enough.

Finally, with one last tug, Guybrush's head and shoulders popped up above the cliff edge and he grabbed onto the rope anchor to pull himself up the rest of the way on his own. Carla fell over backwards, breathing heavily and moaning about her head. Guybrush fell down on his stomach next to her.

"Thanks, Carla," he said after a few minutes. "Thanks a lot."

"Hey," she answered, "no problem. You saved my life too. I guess."

"Yeah." He pushed himself up and looked back at the bridge--or rather, the place where the bridge used to be. "I think maybe Meathook should've stuck with the pulley-and-poultry method. Seems a lot less dangerous."

Carla shrugged. "Never had a problem with the bridge before. I wonder what made the ropes snap like that..."

"Maybe one of the rioters cut partway through it."

"Yeah, but on the Hook Island side?"

Guybrush sighed and tried not to think of the other alternative--that the force that had struck the Scumm Bar had struck again. "Who knows?" he replied instead. "Come on--let's go on into town."

"Do you think Meathook'll be mad we broke his bridge?" Carla asked, nearly giggling again.

"I hope not. Maybe if we explain it was just a freak accident, he'll forgive us. Or maybe if we tell him that we were hanging moments from death..." He shrugged. "Come on. Can you walk on your own now?"

"Um...no. Not quite."

"Okay then." Guybrush got up and pulled her to her feet, too, supporting her the same way he had earlier. "Let's hope the earth doesn't split open on the way into town."

Luckily for them, the walk into town was uneventful. Though, they did pass by a few pirates in various stages of hangovers--some even passed out in the middle of the path.

They walked past the burned-out ruins of the Scumm Bar and into the town proper, looking around. Debris--mainly empty grog bottles and broken glass--littered the street, several windows were broken and one shop had its door broken in. The town's one dock had been smashed to bits; Guybrush didn't want to think of the damage done down by the harbor. A couple of pirates were still stamping out a brushfire on the path to the Governor's Mansion. There were also many _very_ hungover pirates lying in the street and on porches.

Guybrush grinned at Carla. "Hey, you should feel right at home."

"Oh, very funny."

"Thanks, I try. Where do you want me to drop you off?"

She looked around. "I dunno, maybe over there where there's not so many--" And at that exact moment, Elaine strolled around a corner, berating two pirates who were holding their heads and moaning. Guybrush caught sight of her and dropped Carla without a second thought. "Or here's fine," Carla said from the ground.

"Hey, great," Guybrush answered distractedly. He stared at Elaine, who never looked his way--she was too busy extracting a lengthy apology out of the two pirates following after her. She had one hand on her pregnant stomach and another running through her long auburn hair, today hanging loose around her shoulders. Her dark blue eyes were practically alight with anger, something Guybrush recognized well, but he wasn't used to it being directed at someone other than him. He smiled. _God, she's beautiful._

He stood there staring at her for what felt like forever. She kept on yelling at the pirates until, once, she happened to look over in Guybrush's direction--and stopped, seeing him there. She fixed her gaze on him, sweeping up and down his rumpled clothes and the circles under his eyes and, finally, locking gazes with him.

After a long moment, she turned back to the two pirates and said, briskly, "And don't do it again!" Dismissing them, Elaine walked over to him with a quick, sure stride. Guybrush, on the other hand, felt his knees going weak beneath him.

"Guybrush," she said coolly. "I didn't expect you to be here."

"Where...where else would I be?" He cursed himself silently for tripping over his own tongue. When he looked back at Elaine, he wasn't at all surprised to see the faint beginnings of a smile on her lips.

She shrugged, but then dropped her cool composure. Her face fell into an expression of worry and concern--directed, Guybrush was surprised to find, at him. "Oh Guybrush, I was so worried--I couldn't sleep--I thought you'd been caught in the riots, and when Grandpa couldn't find you..."

He hesitated briefly before he threw his arms around her and pulled her close. "It's okay, Elaine," he murmured, running his hands through her hair. "I was far away from those riots, don't worry, I was hiding--err, _staying_--at Meathook's. And you...you were safe at the mansion, weren't you?"

"Yes, yes, I was." She closed her eyes, sighing with relief. Then she pulled away and looked up at him. "Guybrush--Guybrush I'm so sorry! I was a complete and utter idiot; I didn't mean _anything_ I said. Oh Guybrush, you're an idiot, but you're _my_ idiot and I love you."

He grinned so wide and so hard he thought his face might split open. "I love you too, Elaine. But you were right--I've been so overprotective of you I forgot that you don't _need_ protecting. You've got so much spirit, Elaine, and I can't believe I tried to kill that. I _am_ a complete idiot...but I hope you're not the bigger idiot for deciding to marry me."

She smiled and let out a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding. "No, of course not--and _that_ I didn't mean. I hope you know that."

"Of course I did," he answered playfully. He looked down at her, then around at the hungover pirates. "I guess the rioters got what they wanted."

"From what I heard, Grandpa somehow talked Mr. Cheese into handing over his grog stash. The pirates drank themselves silly. And a good thing, too, or Grandpa would've had trouble controlling them all--they were starting to get ridiculously out of hand. That would probably hurt him in the polls."

"Yeah, I guess so." Guybrush sighed. It was always only a matter of time before Elaine got down to business again. "Hey, um, Elaine?"

She arched an eyebrow. "What, plunderbunny?"

"Can I go back to the mansion now? I mean, no offense, but all this stuff is...um..._really_ boring."

"Well, all right." She ran her hand through her hair again. "Besides, you were never any good at berating pirates. I should be done in a little while. And then, Guybrush, you and I are going to have a little talk."

Guybrush swallowed. "A...'talk?'"

"Mmm-hmm. You didn't think that just an apology would put an end to this, did you?"

"Well, I was _hoping_--"

"Nice try dear. I'll see you back at the mansion after I'm through here."

He nodded and, as an afterthought, hugged her again. As he walked away with a significantly lighter step than he'd had before, he looked at her over his shoulder--and was glad to see her smiling at him. Things were looking up.

As he swerved to avoid a large pile of pirates, he glanced up at the clock tower. It was going on noon, and his stomach grumbled as it realized he hadn't eaten all day. "Okay, okay," he mumbled under his breath, "I'll break into the kitchen just as soon as I get back to the mansion."

He looked back up at the clock tower again. Was he seeing things, or was the clock casting a longer shadow than it usually did? And was it tilting precariously, or was he imagining it after his first harrowing experience of the day? Guybrush looked around. No one else seemed to notice anything. He watched the clock while he tried to come up with a rational explanation.

Finally he conceded that he had no explanation and yes, it appeared that the clock was tilting in an ominous manner--he could see the top of it pulling free from the archway. It wouldn't be long before it plunged into a free-fall to the ground below--squashing flat the congregation of pirates below it.

Guybrush did the only thing that came to his mind--he ran forward and barreled straight into the pirates, knocking them flat on their backs and safely under the archway.

"Hey!" shouted one. "What do ye think ye're doin'?"

"I--err--um--hey, I must be stronger than I thought!" Guybrush grinned and shoved the rest of the protesting pirates to safety just as the clock's shadow loomed over him. He didn't dare look up--he dived out of the way, landing on the bare pavement with a thud that was drowned out by an even louder thud from the clock as it struck ground nearly on top of him.

Dazed, Guybrush stared up at the sky, hardly hearing the shouts around him. _Boy, those clouds sure are fluffy..._

Elaine's face appeared above him, drawn and worried again. "Hey," he protested weakly, "you're blocking my view of the clouds..."

She arched one eyebrow at him. "Guybrush? Guybrush! Are you all right?"

He looked at her and seemed to truly notice her for the first time. "I'm Bobbin," he answered groggily. "Are you my mother?"

She grinned. "You're fine." Taking his hands, Elaine gently pulled him to his feet, supporting him with her weight until he could stand on his own. She turned to two pirates standing around nearby, clutching their heads. "You two! Get this clock out of the way!"

"Nnngh!"

"_Now_!" They moved out of the way as the two hungover pirates shuffled over and went about trying to move the heavy, broken clock out of the way. Guybrush watched them with a dazed expression on his face.

"You know Elaine, that thing could've squished me."

"Mmm-hmm. Flatter than a popped inner tube, plunderbunny."

"And that lightning strike at the Scumm Bar could've electrocuted me, and Meathook's bridge collapsing could've sent me falling down to my doom. I think I forgot to tell you about that." He paused. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say someone on this island was out to get me."

"Yes dear." She glanced away, appearing distracted, then looked back at him again with a sly grin. "Have you given any more thought to our leaving?"

Guybrush sighed and shook his head. "Listen, Elaine--"

"You know," she said, pursing her lips, "who knows what could attack you next? Grandpa Marley's china cabinet could fall over on you. That could be worse than the clock."

He gulped. "China cabinet? As in..._porcelain_?"

"Mmm-hmm."

It didn't take much more thought than that for Guybrush to arrive at his decision. "Elaine, I've made a decision! We're going to Plunder Island. Now. As soon as possible. I'll go arrange for our things to be taken to the ship, you can go tell the crew to get ready...and I'll stay as far away from Grandpa Marley's china cabinet as humanly possible." He kissed her forehead and dashed off, his brush with death quickly forgotten. Elaine smiled.

"I knew he'd see it my way."

* * *

Guybrush appeared on the docks as a walking pile of luggage less than an hour later. Carla trailed behind him, still grumbling about her head but somehow looking more cheerful than she'd been in a long time.

"It's about time you got here; I've been waiting for half an hour." Elaine came down the gangplank, glanced at Carla and Guybrush and shook her head. "Guybrush, put that luggage down in the hold--and what's _she_ doing here?"

Guybrush staggered up the gangplank, past Elaine, and dropped the luggage into the hold with an unceremonious thud. "She's the newest member of our crew, Elaine," he said, wiping sweat from his forehead.

Elaine gave him an unconvinced look. "She's a drunkard, Guybrush."

"Yeah, I know, but it's kind of my fault she's that way anyway so I figured I owed her." He looked at her pleadingly. "C'mon, please? I'm doing what _you_ wanted..."

She sighed. "Oh, all right. Fine. But just this once!"

He grinned as he waved Carla up on deck. "Thanks, plunderbunny."

Preparations to get underway moved smoothly and efficiently with Elaine barking orders and Guybrush hanging back and trying to stay out of the way. Soon, they were ready to go. Guybrush took charge immediately. "Carla, raise the anchor. I'll take the wheel."

Elaine grabbed him by the shoulder and gave him a dubious look. "Guybrush darling, not to be cruel or anything, but the last time you took the wheel we wound up going the wrong direction for two days."

"So I can't steer the ship?"

She shook her head. "Maybe next time."

"Okay...I _guess_ I can live with that." He looked hurt for a moment, then ordered another crew member to take the wheel. With a silly grin plastered on his face, Guybrush stood at the bow of the ship as they got underway. "All right, Elaine!" Guybrush struck a dramatic pose. "To infinity...and beyond!"

"Guybrush dear, stop that, we're going to get sued."

"Eh-heh...sorry."


	3. Act Three: Four Parts Evil

_Act Three: ...Four Parts Evil..._

* * *

Most of the trip to Plunder Island was relatively uneventful. A small storm blew up the afternoon after they left Mêlée, during which Elaine forced Guybrush to sit up in the crow's nest--her reasoning was that if it was another attempt on his life, at least the rest of the ship wouldn't be harmed. Guybrush couldn't tell if she was kidding or not. The storm, however, passed without any overt threat except for maybe a few strong gusts of wind and a couple of hailstones.

They were no more than an hour away from Plunder's harbor when Guybrush noticed a ship shadowing them. He called Elaine up from below deck and retrieved a spyglass.

"What is it?" Elaine asked, coming up beside him.

Guybrush squinted at the ship. "Don't know," he said at last. The ship itself was small--about the size of their own _Sea Cucumber_, but more the worse for wear. Her sails were torn in several places and there was no sign of a crew up on deck. "It looks like she's been abandoned--nobody's there, and she's not flying any colors."

"It could be a trick." She yanked the spyglass away from him and looked for herself. After a long pause, she said, "Though if it is, it's a good one. Keep an eye on her--we're not far from Plunder, anyway. I doubt she'll bother us."

Guybrush's pirate instincts, however, told him otherwise. He kept a _very_ close eye on that ship, peering into the spyglass until his eyes watered. Finally, he shook his head and looked around for the nearest crew member--Carla. She was slouched against the side rail, still trying to adjust to a new life of sobriety. She wasn't taking to it very readily, and Guybrush worried that she'd dive into the nearest tavern the second they hit Plunder.

"Carla," he said gently, "go tell the crew to be ready for an attack--and tell Elaine to stay below deck. That ship's following us all right, ghost ship or no."

She frowned at him. "Oh sure, give me all the easy work."

"Carla..."

"I'm going, I'm going, keep your shirt on..."

He turned to watch the ship again as the crew came to life behind him. They scrambled about the deck for their swords, all headed for their assigned positions. Guybrush was proud of their quick reaction time--even if it was only fear of Elaine's wrath that kept them so quick on their feet. The ghost ship, meanwhile, still showed no signs of life, but some sort of unnatural wind filled her sails--she was fast gaining on the _Sea Cucumber_.

"Cap'n Frip--err, Threepwood?"

Guybrush turned around. Carla was standing behind him again, looking a bit more ruffled than before. "Crew's all ready, cap'n. And by the way, your wife says you can go hang...along with a few other things I'm not gonna repeat."

He sighed. "Thanks, Carla. I think."

"Yeah, right."

He was about to reply when a cannonball landed in the water just a few meters away. Soaked to the skin and still unsteady on his feet, Guybrush barely managed to shout out orders. "Hard to port! Load the cannons! Turn us around to face them!"

The _Sea Cucumber_ turned around swiftly, if not gracefully, to face her enemy. As she did, her crew fired off a volley of cannonballs. They all missed their marks. The ghost ship, on the other hand, had better luck. One of her shots sailed straight into the _Cucumber_'s deck, sending sprays of wooden shrapnel into the air.

Elaine appeared up on deck, shaking dust out of her hair and barking orders. She had the cannons reloaded and firing off another volley faster than Guybrush thought possible.

"Elaine!" he cried, skittering across the deck. She held a hand up and stopped him in his tracks.

"If you're going to play hero to anyone, Guybrush, do it for our crew." Her lips pressed into a thin line. "You're their captain. ...Well, co-captain."

Another cannonball sailed in and struck the ship's side. Everyone was tossed around and more shrapnel flew through the air--some of it striking Elaine.

She looked at the bleeding gash on her arm and shrugged it off. Guybrush, however, couldn't do the same--he started panicking and practically screaming for someone to bring bandages. "Just _go_," Elaine hissed, prying his hand from her arm. "I'll be fine."

"But--"

"_Go!_"

Guybrush got the message. As fast as he could he sprinted up to the wheel, where their navigator, Scabbers, was pacing frantically.

"Well? What's going on?"

"We're dead in the water." Scabbers scratched at his eyepatch and started pacing faster.

Guybrush flinched. "I wish you'd use a better term for it."

"Yeah, sure, when I think of one I'll let you know."

Guybrush knew it was only a matter of time before the enemy ship pulled up alongside them and boarding parties started landing on their deck. "Get ready for boarding parties!" he called needlessly to his crew.

He no sooner spoke the words when a rope swung towards him, bearing a pirate. Guybrush didn't even get a glimpse of him before the pirate had knocked him off his feet and to the deck. "Ow," he muttered, rubbing his shoulder as he drew his cutlass. _That's going to leave a mark._

He looked at his attacker--and drew back with mingled disgust and horror. The pirate he was facing was undead. Its clothes hung in tatters around its skeletal frame--but the worst part was its eyes. They rolled about freely in their sockets, never seeming to rest on any one thing for very long. Finally, though, they settled with deadly calm on Guybrush. He swallowed and braced for an attack, but the skeleton just stared at him. Other boarding parties began swinging onto the ship.

Guybrush couldn't take the suspense anymore. "Who--who sent you?" he squeaked out. It was only after he'd said it that he realized the undead pirate might not be able to talk.

On the deck below, swords clanged together. Guybrush thought he heard Carla shout "You're as repulsive as a monkey in a negligée!" but didn't catch the response.

"I asked who sent you," Guybrush repeated. He took a step forward in challenge, which the skeleton quickly accepted. Within seconds their swords were sending off sparks as they collided. "Was it--"

"LeChuck."

Guybrush felt as though someone had dumped a bucket of ice water down the back of his neck. His thoughts raced as he began to try and put together the pieces of the puzzle so far presented him. _Largo must be back under LeChuck's command or something...he could've told LeChuck we'd be out in the open waters...but if LeChuck has the power to control nature--_

He didn't have the time or the will to finish the thought. His opponent was fast gaining ground, and Guybrush had to make sure both he and the rest of his undead cronies left his ship--for Elaine's sake. Stepping up his attack, he started pushing the skeleton back towards the railing.

The skeleton, surprisingly, proved a worthy opponent. There were no insults exchanged--it was an all-or-nothing fight--and there wasn't any time for any. Guybrush was driven backwards more than once, sometimes almost back into the railing himself. But he allowed himself to be controlled by his adrenaline, and that in turn let keep up a frantic pace.

Finally, he tried an overhand maneuver that pinned the skeleton's sword arm to the railing. As it tried to pull its arm loose and continue the fight, Guybrush gave it a strong push over the edge. Its arm tore right out of its socket and the skeleton went tumbling down into the sea, where it disappeared.

"Give my regards to LeChuck," Guybrush muttered, then turned to assess the situation. His crew had adopted much the same tactic he had, and were just now sending the last of the undead either back to their ship or into the sea. There didn't appear to be any casualties on his side. He was, however, surprised--and rather displeased--to see Elaine in the fight, too.

She was standing back from the sword fights, but on top of a crate of foodstuffs with a pistol in each hand taking shots at every skeleton she could see. Her face was a mixture of determination and pride. She _was_ a good shot--Guybrush had to begrudge her that, especially when she shot one skeleton's head clear off its body. But he still wished she'd gone below deck where it was safer.

Guybrush took a deep breath and tried to stay calm. "She doesn't want you to be overprotective, she doesn't want you to be overprotective..." Chanting under his breath like that, he readjusted his grip on his sword and dived in to help his crew.

* * *

Minutes later, after it was all over and every last skeleton had been sent flying into the sea--in pieces or otherwise--Guybrush approached Elaine. She was just climbing down from her sniping point with a little difficulty. He extended a hand and helped her down.

"Err, nice shooting."

Elaine smiled and blew the smoke from one pistol. "Thanks." Guybrush wondered if she'd always had that cocky air, or if she'd picked that up from him somewhere along the line. She tossed the guns back to the crewmen they belonged to and looked back at him. "But you're not happy about it, are you?"

He swallowed. Sometimes he hated it when she seemed to read his mind. "Well, um--" Guybrush looked at her arm, where she'd been hit earlier by the flying wood, and found an unasked-for distraction. The gash didn't look deep, but it was still bleeding and had caked her white shirt all around with dark red blood. "Elaine, let me look at that."

She looked down at her arm. "What, that? It's just a scratch." He gave her a long pleading look, though, and she caved in. "All right--but inside the cabin." Giving a few last minute instructions to the crew to start repairs, Elaine disappeared inside the captain's cabin. Guybrush scurried after her.

Inside the tiny cabin, Elaine sat down on the bed and looked at Guybrush as if to say "Well?" He dug around in drawers and cabinets until he found a kit of bandages and a flask of water.

"You know who sent those undead," she said as he sat down next to her. "There's only one...thing I know of--Guybrush, just tear that sleeve off, it's ruined anyway."

Guybrush nodded and started ripping it away, being careful not to touch her wound. "One of the skeletons told me." He looked up at her. "He's after you, you know."

She blew a loose lock of hair out of her eyes. "He always is."

"Do you think he knows...?"

"That I'm pregnant?" She shrugged. "I doubt it." As Guybrush started gently cleaning the dried blood from her arm, she flinched. "He'll find out eventually."

Guybrush gritted his teeth. "I'd rather he found out after the baby was born."

"I'd rather he weren't here at all. And what worries me most is that he has a ship now--probably more than one. He wouldn't send out his only ship with just one crew of skeletons and no important higher-up in his chain of command. And they came from Mêlée Island's general direction."

He raised his eyebrows at her. "What are you thinking...?"

"I'm thinking--Guybrush, just use another bandage to clean it, we've got some to spare--I'm thinking that maybe something's wrong on Mêlée." Her face fell into a pinched frown. "Like the ship came looking for us there and couldn't find us..."

"I thought it was because Largo told him where we'd be," Guybrush interrupted. Elaine raised one eyebrow until he explained. "I saw--or at least _thought_ I saw--Largo LaGrande walking around Mêlée. Just before the riots. He saw me, too."

Elaine shook her head. "Nobody's seen him in years, plunderbunny. He's supposed to be dead."

"Nobody knows that for sure." He sighed. "I survived the whole fortress-exploding thing; he could've too."

She smiled and handed him another bandage. "Yes, but you've got dumb luck, dear. Anyway--"

"You were saying something about Mêlée?"

"_Anyway,_ I was thinking that maybe one of us should go back and warn my grandfather what's going on. There's no telling what could have happened. If there's more of these ghost ships out..."

Guybrush sighed, leaning back, bandages and all left forgotten for the moment. "I don't want to leave you alone, Elaine."

She frowned. "I won't be alone--there'll be the crew, too. Besides, it's not as if we're going anywhere but Plunder Harbor with all these holes in the ship."

"But if he knows this ship failed--"

"Then he'll send more, yes, I know." She clicked her tongue disapprovingly. "But we _need_ to warn my grandfather. And what if the skeletons attacked Mêlée? And I was supposed to send you to the Voodoo Lady if anything out of the ordinary happened to you--if you hurry, you could still catch her there, I think."

Guybrush picked up the bandages again. "I just don't feel comfortable leaving you alone right now. I mean, with Horatio Jr. or whoever--"

"It needs to be done, snugglecakes. But that reminds me--we've got to find a new name for the baby."

He sighed as he wetted another bandage and kept wiping blood away. "Again? Elaine--"

"I think it's going to be a girl." She smiled, cutting him off. "What was the name you liked?"

"Armena." He smiled back, his spirits brightening a little bit. "I think I saw it in a book somewhere."

Elaine fiddled with a lock of hair and nodded. "You know," she teased, "we could always give her a _normal_ name."

"This from the woman who wanted to name her son Horatio."

She snickered. "Well, we all have moments we'd like to forget."

"Yeah, like that time on our honeymoon when you drank that stuff that--"

"_Guybrush!_" With her free hand, she swatted at him. He laughed.

"If you don't quit hitting me, I'll never get this bandage on."

"Oh...fine." Temporarily defeated, Elaine sat still as he pulled a bandage tight around her arm and tied it.

Once he was sure it was secure, Guybrush sat back. "Okay, _now_ you can hit me."

She kissed him, instead.

* * *

When they came back up on deck, repairs were already well underway. Scabbers told them it would take only a couple of hours, but Elaine managed to convince him to speed things up a bit. "If we're not careful, those skeletons will swarm right back up on board," she told him as he turned pale. "You know how the undead are."

Then she turned to Guybrush. "And you're going to take three crew members and go back to Mêlée with this other ship, aren't you?"

He opened his mouth to argue, but the look Elaine gave him made him close it _very_ quickly. "Err, right. That's right. Back to Mêlée. And I'll need crew members...right...Carla, Sven and--err--Estevan. Get over to the other ship and make sure she's seaworthy. I want her ready to go back to Mêlée as soon as possible. And...make sure there's no undead crawling around in the hold or anything."

They used the grappling hooks and ropes the skeletons had left behind to board the other ship. Only Guybrush remained behind, delaying his departure for as long as possible to make sure that Elaine would be all right.

Finally it couldn't be delayed any longer--and Elaine just about threw him off the _Sea Cucumber _with instructions to "get moving or else." Sighing, he placed himself at the helm of his new ship--which they'd discovered was named the _Persephone_--and ordered his crew to set sail. With the wind favoring them they slipped away quickly from the _Cucumber_, but Guybrush watched her until she was just a speck on the horizon.

* * *

Guybrush worried about Elaine all the trip back to Mêlée. He had to assume that she was safe in the fort on Plunder and had been so for several days, but he had no way of knowing for sure--and it was the uncertainty that was killing him. Carla kept telling him to shut up and quit sulking, but her impromptu pep talks never seemed to have much effect. She gave up after a day or so.

Finally, with Guybrush practically twitching with anticipation, they came within sight of Mêlée Island. "Land—holy..."

The island was in flames and ruins. The harbor was smoldering, all the docks and ships having long since been burned. The only ships remaining were ones very similar to the _Persephone_--dark, menacing looking, with tattered sails.

The town, from what they could see, was in ruins. The evening sky glowed a foggy orange from the flames still rampaging through the town and a few outlying buildings-- not including, however, the Governor's Mansion.

Guybrush took a deep breath and pinched himself as hard as he could. The scene remained unchanged. "Okay," he said slowly, turning to his crew, "I'll go ashore and try to find any survivors. Sven, take her in and anchor her on the other side of the island. Hopefully the undead haven't seen us yet."

Carla started to strap on her sword. "I'm coming with you."

"No--the fewer that go ashore the better, I think." He took another deep breath. "Besides, we'll need room in the boat for refugees."

"If there are any."

Guybrush gave her a look that he'd seen on Elaine's face one time too many. She shrank away from it. "Okay," she said sullenly, "I'll get the place ready for your refugees."

Once they'd anchored on the far side of the island, a boat was made ready and Guybrush went ashore, carrying only his sword. He rowed to a tiny strip of beach and then tugged the boat up on shore, trying to disguise it as best as he possibly could. It wasn't easy--there wasn't much ground cover and he was afraid of it getting caught in a fire if he brought it too far inland.

Having covered the boat as best he could with branches and leaves, Guybrush warily moved inland, into the forest. He headed first to the Governor's Mansion, hoping somehow that Grandpa Marley would still be there somewhere.

Every light, every candle in the place was lit when he arrived. Not daring to leave the relative safety of the trees, Guybrush tried to peer inside one of the back windows--and ducked back immediately. The entire place was literally swarming with the undead. They seemed to be looking for something or another, or they were just ransacking the place for the fun of it. Skeletons moved past the windows along with a couple of flickering wraiths. Guybrush could have sworn he saw a disgruntled-looking Ozzie Mandrill among them, but his eyes might've been playing tricks on him again.

"I'm not going to find anything here..." Guybrush muttered, turning to go and try in town. That was when the hand was slapped over his mouth and another grabbed both his arms. "Mmph!" He twisted and turned, trying to escape, but that only earned him a nearly-dislocated shoulder as his would-be captor tried to keep their grip.

"Squinky, geez, would y'knock it off?"

Guybrush relaxed instantly. He recognized Grandpa Marley's voice--as well as his tendency to call him "Squinky." He heard shuffling feet behind him; there was obviously more than one person there. "All right," Marley said, "let him go."

Guybrush was dropped to the ground with a very unceremonious thud. Trying to decide which to rub first--his aching shoulder or his backside--Guybrush glanced at the people standing around him until he found a shadow that looked like it might be Grandpa Marley. "Grandpa, what's--"

"LeChuck. He's brought a whole armada, but I'll be damned if I know where he got it from. I know what he's looking for, too. If you've brought my granddaughter here Squinky, I'll tear you--"

"She's on Plunder," Guybrush squeaked out quickly. "We ran into the undead ourselves a few days ago. I just came back looking for the Voodoo Lady, and Elaine thought I should warn you about LeChuck...I guess I'm a few days too late."

"Two days, seven hours and sixteen minutes," chimed in a tall pirate. "But it's not like we've been counting or anything."

Grandpa Marley sighed. "We didn't stand a chance when that armada showed up. The grog riots took down most of our defenses, and a lot of pirates were too hungover to fight back. The whole thing must've been set up from the start. That LeChuck's getting smarter, the stupid git. Now--" he held his hand out to help Guybrush up--"let's get out of here. It isn't safe. We've just got the one hide-out left, and they're bound to find that soon--tell me you brought a ship big enough to hold all of us."

"Well..." He got to his feet and dusted off his pants. "How many of there are you?"

Marley shrugged. "There's about twenty of us, plus another ten or so being held prisoner in town. We've been trying to break 'em out, but the undead defenses are too strong. Would be easier if the Voodoo Lady hadn't up and left a couple of days before all this started."

Guybrush nodded and looked around again. "Okay...it'll be pretty tight, but I think we can take everyone. Grandpa, you take everyone in your group out to my ship across the island. I'll try and get those people out of town. Somehow." He told Grandpa Marley where he'd hidden the boat and then smiled a grim smile. "Good luck, I guess."

"Squinky, if you're going into that pit with just your swords and your wit, you're the one who'll be needing the luck."

"Yeah," Guybrush said, "thanks—heeeeey..."

Grandpa Marley motioned for the rest of his group--all of whom were snickering--to get going towards the ship. When they'd disappeared through the foliage, he looked Guybrush square in the eye, resting his hand on his shoulder.

"I want you to be careful," he began. "LeChuck wants you dead--if things go bad in there, don't do anything stupid and heroic. Get out and get back to your ship. I don't want to have to explain to Elaine why her husband isn't coming home."

Guybrush swallowed and bobbed his head up and down. "I--I won't--I mean, I won't do anything stupid."

"You promise?"

"I promise."

Marley nodded, pulling his hand away. "Good. Then, Squinky, I'll see you back at your ship."

"Grandpa..." Guybrush coughed, then said in a rush, "If I don't get back to the ship in about an hour, leave without me."

Grandpa Marley sighed and looked generally fed up. "What did I just tell you?"

"I know what you said, but if you stay any longer you'll run the risk of being caught. I don't want that to happen because you were waiting for me."

"You and your heroics," Marley grumbled, but he smiled when he said it. "All right, a deal's a deal. I'll see you in an hour."

Guybrush nodded and started off through the forest, heading for town. He had to go out of his way more than once to avoid a roaming patrol of the undead. _Man,_ Guybrush thought, _where did LeChuck get all these skeletons from?_

After successfully evading a third group of undead pirates, Guybrush came to the town walls. There was a heavy guard under the archway, so he climbed up over the wall and dropped down to the other side--straight into a group of skeletons.

"Oof--eh-heh, hi there...uh, could you please put down that very sharp swo--ow!"

* * *

When Guybrush came to, he was lying facedown on the floor of a dark building, bound hand and foot, with a lump on the back of his head and a pounding headache. Very slowly, he started to raise his head and figure out where he was--until a pair of rough hands grabbed him and rolled him over onto his back.

"Ow," he muttered, wincing as his head hit the floor. "Hey, what d'you think--"

A hand clapped over his mouth a second later. "Lad," whispered a very familiar voice, "shut yer mouth. I'm tryin' to help ye." Guybrush relaxed, and Mr. Cheese took his hand away and concentrated on untying the ropes that were wrapped so tightly around Guybrush's wrists.

As they came undone, Guybrush sat up and, rubbing the back of his head, started picking at the ropes around his ankles. "Whu--where are we?"

"International House of Mojo."

"_And_ my private property!" The voice, thick with a French accent, came out of nowhere and startled Guybrush half out of his wits. "I do not understand _Monsieur _LeChuck's obsession with keeping you all locked up in here. Another building could serve just as well, _mais non_..."

Guybrush arched one eyebrow at the tall dark figure standing just a few feet away and whispered to Mr. Cheese, "Uh, who's this?"

Mr. Cheese shrugged. "New voodoo priest. Don't know his name--he got into town right 'fore LeChuck did."

"_Monsieur_, I have told you before--I _have_ no name. I am--how you say—mysterious."

"And a little...ye know," Mr. Cheese added to Guybrush in a whisper.

"Completely and utterly insane?"

"Somethin' like that."

The priest sighed and lit a couple of voodoo torches around the room. As Guybrush blinked, trying to adjust to the light, he realized that there were more people in the room than he'd thought. In fact, after a quick count, he realized there were ten of them, including Mr. Cheese and the crazy voodoo priest. _Well, I guess I found those prisoners Grandpa was talking about..._

That thought reminded Guybrush of something very important. "Uh, Mr. Cheese, how long have I been unconscious...?"

Mr. Cheese shrugged. "'Bout an hour, I'd guess."

Guybrush's eyes went wide. "An _hour_? ...Oh, great. Grandpa Marley's left without us--and he'll tell Elaine I'm probably dead. Great, just great." He buried his face in his hands and let out a long sigh. "If we ever get off this island, they're both going to kill me."

"Lad, ye're lucky ye're alive at all! The skeletons're armed to the teeth, and ye can bet yer sword they've got orders to kill ye."

"No..." Guybrush raised his head. "LeChuck'll want to do that himself. That's probably why those skeletons only hit me over the head instead of killing me. Which means--" he got to his feet and started looking around again--"I've got until LeChuck shows up or they drag me off to see him to find a way out of here." He took a step forward--and, forgetting that his feet were still tied together, fell flat on his face. Everyone else in the room snickered, especially the voodoo priest, who laughed until he nearly cried.

"Uh, lad..."

He sighed. "Just untie my feet, please."

* * *

A cursory inspection of the room revealed little of interest, much less of help to the prisoners. The Voodoo Lady had taken nearly everything with her when she'd left and the new voodoo priest hadn't had time to even bring his things up from the docks--the only thing Guybrush found was a dusty voodoo doll in one corner and a single pin to go with it.

Guybrush then made a quick inspection of his pockets. That turned up a few spare scraps of paper, four pieces-of-eight, and a bandage leftover from when he'd patched up Elaine's wound. He sighed. It wasn't much to work with, he admitted. "There's got to be something we can do..."

He walked over to the voodoo priest and cleared his throat. "Um, excuse me..."

He sighed and rolled his dark brown eyes at the pirate. "Can I help you, _monsieur_? Perhaps I can cure you of your chronic stupidity?"

"No, I--heeeey..." Guybrush shook his head. "I _wanted_ to ask you if you knew any voodoo spells to get us out of here."

"No, _monsieur_, I do not."

"Are you sure?"

"_Oui._"

"Are you really, _really_ sure? I mean--"

The priest rubbed his temples. "_Monsieur_, I can assure you, I know of no spell that will get us out of this place. And even if I did, I would not use it on _you_."

Guybrush blinked. "You know, I get the feeling that you don't like me for some reason."

"Whatever gave you that idea?" the priest asked dryly.

"Any particular reason why?"

"I have no fondness for those who prattle on without pausing to think about the fact that their brains have gone missing, _monsieur_." He paused. "Also, I understand that the reason we are all trapped in here is because _Monsieur_ LeChuck is obsessed with finding _you_. I do not know what you have done to offend him so, but I do not wish to associate myself with one who offends the dead."

Guybrush snorted derisively. "Yeah, and I suppose you'd rather side with an undead creep like LeChuck. We wouldn't even be in this mess if LeChuck didn't keep coming back from the dead every time I killed him!"

The priest lifted an eyebrow, unimpressed. "And I assume he returns from the grave because of your offenses towards him, _non_?"

"No," Guybrush answered through gritted teeth, "he keeps coming back because he won't stop chasing after my wife."

"You are married, _monsieur_? And an undead pirate is after your wife? I suppose you would have me believe these silly tales?" He laughed. "I am not so easily fooled, _monsieur_. It takes much more than an insipid children's tale to fool a voodoo priest of the highest rank."

Guybrush bit his tongue to keep from spitting back a vindictive reply. Instead, muttering under his breath, he returned to his pile of random objects. Mr. Cheese was sitting beside them, watching him with a wary gaze.

"Lad, don't ye take any notice of that one," he offered quietly. "He's daft, I told ye."

Guybrush sighed. "I know, but I think he might know of a way out of here. I had to at least try."

"Yeah, and he might be workin' for LeChuck, too. Ever thought of that, lad? 'Sides, what're ye gonna do once ye get out, anyway? Ye said it yerself--Governor Marley's left without ye."

"I'll...commandeer a ship?" Guybrush offered meekly.

"With what?"

"This pin." He held it up and squinted at it in the dim torchlight. "Or not."

Mr. Cheese snorted. "Well, at least the pin's good for pokin' people."

Guybrush looked back at him with a sudden, wicked gleam in his eyes. "Mr. Cheese, you've just given me a brilliant idea."

"Oh no, lad, I was only--"

But it was too late. Guybrush had already gotten to his feet and was moving stealthily towards the voodoo priest with the pin in one hand. The priest was distracted with a stain on his long black robes and never noticed Guybrush's approach--until the mighty pirate stabbed him in the arm with his pin.

"_Mon Dieu_!" he shouted, whirling around. His face, however, settled into a bored expression upon sighting Guybrush. "Oh. It's _you_. I should have known."

"Are you _sure_ you don't know a way to get us out of here?"

The priest sighed. "You, _monsieur_, are a thorn in my side which needs removing. First you pester me with your silly tales, and now you think to attack me? Well, we shall see about _that_!" And he marched across the room, picked up a voodoo staff that looked more like a dead log than anything else, and marched back over to Guybrush. He shook it under Guybrush's nose, then proclaimed in a deep voice, "I curse you with _les mains de Midas_!"

"The what?"

The priest lowered his staff and sighed, his face falling. "The hands of Midas, you moronic simpleton."

"Oh." Guybrush scratched his head. "Is that bad?"

The priest closed his eyes and began muttering under his breath in French. "._..huit, neuf, dix. Bien_." Then, looking back at Guybrush, he simply said, "Yes."

Guybrush turned a bit pale. "Okay, just _how_ bad is--"

"_Monsieur_, if you do not close your mouth and leave my sight immediately, I am sure I can think of a curse much worse than the one I have inflicted upon you already."

He sighed and scratched his head again. "Okay, okay, I'm going." Defeated, Guybrush slunk back to Mr. Cheese. The man was watching him with another of his concerned looks.

"I don't think ye have to worry about that curse, lad," he began the minute Guybrush sat down. "The man's daft, just like I told ye. If it weren't for LeChuck, he'd probably have half the island cursed by now."

Guybrush nodded. "I don't _feel_ any different..." He picked up the voodoo doll and tossed it around in his hands. "And nothing bad's happening to this voodoo doll...so...maybe you're right."

"He's probably just tryin' t'scare ye."

"Yeah...but..." He looked around guiltily. "That was a stupid thing I did, wasn't it."

"Aye."

"Great." Guybrush buried his face in his hands. "Grandpa Marley's going to kill me."

Mr. Cheese picked up the pin and studied it intently. "Ye know," he said, "ye could probably pick a lock with this."

Guybrush looked up. "What lock?"

"The one on the window." He motioned to a window on the far wall--through the glass, a chain and padlock were plainly visible, wrapped around the window latch. "But why didn't ye think of it earlier?"

"Because I've never picked a lock before...?"

Mr. Cheese arched his eyebrows. "Ye mean ye went through all that 'three trials' hoo-ha and ye never learned how to pick no locks?"

He shrugged. "I did learn how to file a lock, though. And how to use grog to melt a lock."

"And I'm sure that'll come in handy someday. Now c'mon."

* * *

After several minutes of window-prying, lock-picking, muttering and general cursing, Mr. Cheese finally succeeded--the lock popped open with a satisfying click. "And that," he said, beaming with pride, "is how ye pick a lock."

Guybrush eyed the now-mutilated pin and the cut on Mr. Cheese's hand. "Uh...great. Thanks. Can we go now?"

"Don't see why not."

Quietly pushing the window open the rest of the way, Guybrush poked his head out and looked around. There didn't seem to be any undead nearby, so he crawled outside and, picking himself up off the ground, motioned for the others to follow him.

Nine of them did. Guybrush peered in through the window and quickly caught sight of the voodoo priest, who was standing with his back to him as if he hadn't noticed the escape in-progress. "Um..." Guybrush said, clearing his throat. "We're, um, leaving now."

"I am aware, _monsieur_."

"So...you're not coming with us?"

"No."

Guybrush scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Look, I know you tried to curse me and everything, but you don't know LeChuck like I do. He'll probably turn you into another undead pirate, if he lets you live at all. I don't--you don't want that, do you?"

The priest turned around and stalked over to the window, his stern features hardset and calm. "_Monsieur,_" he began, grabbing Guybrush by the chin, "I would rather take my chances with _Monsieur_ LeChuck than someone so cursed as you are."

"But you were the one who cursed me!" Guybrush sputtered.

"And I would not take it back for a moment, _monsieur._ Perhaps now you will learn what your arrogance has cost you, _non_? _Au revoir, monsieur_. I pray that we will not meet again." He said the last softly, pushing Guybrush away. Then he closed the window and doused the lights, leaving Guybrush staring at a dark, impenetrable veil.

It was Mr. Cheese who brought him back to reality. "Well lad, what're we goin' to do now?"

"Um..." Guybrush looked around at the group, realizing that they were all depending on _him._ He blinked. _Oh, great._ "Over the wall, maybe...?"

One of the pirates eyed him up and down. "Ye goes over first."

"Er--okay." He climbed up the wall and, after first checking to make sure there were no skeletons about, dropped down to the other side. "Okay, coast's clear."

One by one, the other pirates followed his lead, until they were all over the wall. Then, Guybrush finally came up with a viable plan. "Okay--I think we should all split up. We're less likely to get caught that way. We'll meet back at...er...the beach on the far side of the island. Everyone know where that is?"

They all nodded, but Mr. Cheese looked skeptical. "Lad, why're we goin' there if ye ain't got no ship for us to be leavin' on?"

"Well, we can regroup there, and we'll be away from town. Now come on--let's go."

They dispersed into the forest, heading off in separate directions. Mr. Cheese lingered for a moment, however. "Ye know what, lad?"

Guybrush looked at Mr. Cheese through tired eyes. "What?"

"Ye're gettin' to be more like Elaine every day, y'know that?" Then he chuckled and went his own way, as well. Guybrush just sighed and followed after him.

* * *

The journey back was, for Guybrush at least, uneventful. He stuck to the thicker patches of forest, thinking he'd be less likely to run into skeletons that way. And he was right--and apparently several other pirates shared his idea, as well. He ran into a few of them more than once. Finally, Guybrush reached the beach--and came to a sudden stop.

There was still a ship anchored offshore. She was one of the ghost ships, not flying any colors, and Guybrush didn't know the _Persephone_ well enough to tell by sight whether or not it was her or some other ship.

Another pirate came crashing through the underbrush, and Guybrush instinctively threw his arm out to stop him. "What's goin' on?" the pirate demanded, annoyed at the arm that had just smacked into his chest.

"There's a ship...I think it might be..." he trailed off, squinting at something else in the foreground--another ship. A rowboat, and in it a bearded old man. Guybrush grinned. "That's the _Persephone_, all right. C'mon!"

As they approached the shore, Grandpa Marley rowed the boat in closer, waving at Guybrush. "You went and did something stupid, didn't you Squinky!" he said, laughing, when they were within earshot of one another.

Guybrush smiled and changed the subject. "I thought I told you not to wait."

"Yeah, well, I figured you'd be a little late--you always are. That and this Carla girl of yours didn't want to leave, either--she said she'd mutiny if I so much as tried." He extended a hand to help Guybrush into the boat, but he climbed in on his own. "Quite the crew you've got, Squinky."

"Thanks, Grandpa." Guybrush collapsed into the rowboat after helping the other pirate in. "There should be seven more coming," he added, closing his eyes and letting out a long sigh.

"I'll come back for 'em in a minute--let's get you onboard your ship, first. How's your head, by the way?" Marley picked up the oars again and started rowing, moving the boat with surprising speed.

"It's been better." Guybrush rubbed his eyes and, finally, let himself relax. "But I'll live. And hey, Grandpa?"

"What, Squinky?"

"Thanks for staying. I--"

"You don't owe me anything, Squinky."

The other pirate piped up for the first time. "Are you two gonna shut up and quit bein' mushy, or are you just gonna go ahead and get married?"

Guybrush laughed a giddy kind of laugh, letting a night's worth of tension slip away.


	4. Act Four: And One Half Part Hope

_Act Four: ...And One-Half Part Hope..._

* * *

Guybrush nearly fell over with relief when he saw the _Sea Cucumber_ resting in Plunder Island's harbor. He didn't even wait until the _Persephone_ had dropped anchor before he grabbed a rope and swung down onto the docks--narrowly missing a net full of crates on the way--and took off running for the fort. When he sprinted in through the front gate, it was to find Elaine standing in the courtyard, giving out orders to bolster the island's defenses. She caught sight of him and smiled, but waited until she was sure the pirates assembled had gotten her directions straight before actually talking to him.

"So," she said coolly, "you're back. It's about time."

He thought at first she was being serious--that she was annoyed he was late--but one look at the mischievous glint in her eyes changed his mind. "Very funny," he mock-growled, pulling her into a hug. "And I suppose you made the crew get out and push our ship into the harbor?"

"Of course," she answered teasingly. "And what did you do, row all the way back here?"

"Well, almost." He sighed. "I would've had to, if I hadn't gotten lucky again."

Elaine raised her eyebrows, looking him up and down and noticing for the first time his dirty clothes, disheveled hair and the circles under his eyes. Her eyes lost that mischievous glint. "Guybrush, what happened? Where's my grandfather?"

"He's fine," Guybrush said quickly. "I left him back at the harbor. He'll probably be along any minute now. But--come on--it's all kind of a long story."

* * *

Elaine sat back in her chair and rubbed her temples. "Well," she said at last, quietly and somewhat numbly, "I guess it's a good thing I ordered Plunder's defenses stepped up."

Guybrush started to sputter a reply, but one of Elaine's trademark looks cut him off. "LeChuck has to be looking for us. I don't know if he'll get word back from any of the undead on the _Persephone_, but if he does--"

"--He'll know we made it here," Guybrush finished.

Elaine nodded. "If and until then, he's likely just taking random stabs in the dark, hoping he'll find us." She sighed. "And then there's this curse you keep babbling on about..."

"I told you, the guy was insane. I don't even know what the 'hands of Midas' _are_, and do you see anything happening to anything or anyone I touch? He was a loon."

She arched an eyebrow at him. "Nothing's happened _yet_. But I don't want to be turned into a gold statue or god knows what at the moment, so you'd better go talk to the Voodoo Lady. Just in case."

Guybrush scratched the back of his neck. "Uh, Elaine, I don't--"

"She's in Danjer Cove, Guybrush. We've been keeping track of all the ships that have been coming into port--she arrived only about a day ago."

"Oh." Guybrush was about to say something more when Grandpa Marley came in, slammed the door and looked around until he spotted Elaine.

"There you are!" he said, grinning. "I've been looking all over the fort for you; really should've looked in the office first, should've known you'd be here..."

Elaine smiled back. "Grandpa! I'm glad you made it back safe." She pushed herself up out of her chair and hugged him. "I was worried," she added quietly.

Grandpa Marley chuckled. "Heh, don't you worry about me, darling. Now c'mon--I'll tell you all about this LeChuck business while we have a look at the fort."

Elaine glanced over at Guybrush. "In a minute, Grandpa. I'll meet you out in the hall."

As Marley grumbled good-naturedly about "kids these days" and left, Elaine walked over to where Guybrush was leaning against her desk, sifting through a couple of maps. "You should go see the Voodoo Lady," she said again. He looked up and set the maps down. "She'll know about this curse--and she'll probably tell you how to defeat LeChuck, too."

Guybrush groaned. "But _Elaine_, I don't want to go on a totally random search for some voodoo object, only to have it backfire at the last second..."

Elaine gave him a look. "If you don't go now, you'll have to stay here, away from everyone until we're sure that curse is a hoax. Away from _me._"

"Okay, okay, I'll go! I was only kidding anyway..."

"Of course you were, plunderbunny." She smiled and leaned forward for a second, debating, then finally kissed him gently on the cheek. "Good luck."

"Just promise me," he said, poking a finger at her stomach, "that nothing exciting will happen while I'm gone."

Elaine sighed. "I promise, Guybrush. Don't even worry about it--we've still got a couple of weeks left to wait. Now go on; Grandpa's waiting for me. He'll want me to tell him what I've done to help Plunder's defenses, I'll bet..." She looked to the door, then back at Guybrush. "I'll let you know if anything happens, all right? And don't forget to go to the Voodoo Lady." She smiled, then slipped out the door.

* * *

Guybrush left the fort shortly after and headed for Danjer Cove. It hadn't changed much since the last time he'd seen it--save that there was no _Sea Cucumber_ anchored offshore. Guybrush looked around at the familiar landscape. There didn't seem to be anything resembling a place where the Voodoo Lady might live.

"Okay...Elaine, I think you're losing your mind." He sighed and looked around again. There was a charming pile of rocks, the sharks in the bay, the idyllic waterfall... Guybrush paused. Next to the waterfall but half-buried under a patch of undergrowth, was a sign. It was old and peeling and looked as if it had once been hanging from a doorway--it read "House of Mojo," though someone had scratched "International" into it, as well.

Guybrush, feeling a little sheepish, stepped behind the waterfall.

The Voodoo Lady had obviously done some redecorating. The narrow opening Guybrush had seen the first time he'd been here had expanded--or been expanded by unnatural forces--into a full-blown cavern. He stepped through a curtain of glittering voodoo beads and into a musty room to rival some of the Voodoo Lady's other previous residences. Dusty carpets lined the cave floor and the walls were dotted with well-worn shelves containing voodoo things of all shapes and sizes, broken only occasionally by a lit voodoo torch. There were still several boxes tucked away in the back of the cave and otherwise lying unpacked. An empty, elaborate chair rested at the far end of the cavern next to a table cluttered with voodoo dolls, pins and scraps of paper.

"Uh, hello...?" Guybrush cleared his throat. Nobody answered and there was no indication that there was anyone in the room besides him. "Is this a bad time?"

"Not at all." There was a flash of light, and then the Voodoo Lady appeared in her chair. She smiled at him from beneath her tall burgundy hat. "Greetings, Guybrush Threepwood. It has been some time. I was surprised you did not come looking for me earlier."

He blinked. "Well, uh--"

"You've come looking for a solution to your current situation, yes?"

"Well, uh, yeah--"

"And I sense that you've also had an encounter with one of my counterparts."

"If you mean that complete loon--"

She waved a hand to interrupt him. "His name is Cyrano de Salon. I studied with him at the university on Vodun Island."

"Uh--"

"He comes from a long line of voodoo practitioners, one very old--and very corrupt. I am not surprised he treated you poorly."

Guybrush sputtered. "He cursed me! With some...hands of Midas...thingy."

The Voodoo Lady nodded. "Indeed. It is an old curse--one of the first curses to follow in the path of the original curse, the Ultimate Insult."

He blinked. "Um, that doesn't sound good."

She waved her hand again, looking annoyed. "Stop interrupting me Guybrush or I'll never get to the point."

"...Right."

"Long ago, there lived a king named Midas. He was rich, but also foolish and greedy--one day he had the 'fortune' of coming across a powerful being who promised him one wish. Midas wished that everything he touched would turn to gold.

"The wish was granted, and Midas was pleased--everything he touched, every fabric, every piece of furniture--became solid gold. The riches he would gain from this new power would be unimaginable. But when Midas sat down to eat..."

"All the food and water turned to gold," Guybrush finished, wide-eyed.

"Yes. The blessing was nothing more than a curse in disguise. For his foolishness and greed, Midas was condemned to a slow death. It was only through his acknowledgment of his mistakes that he, eventually, was freed."

Guybrush swallowed a lump in his throat. "But, um--nothing I touch turns to gold."

The Voodoo Lady picked up a short strand of beads, glittering green in the low torchlight. "We shall see. Here, catch." And with a deft flick of her wrist, she tossed the beads at Guybrush's head.

They bounced off his forehead and landed on the floor with a muffled clatter. "Sorry..." Guybrush muttered, bending down to pick them up. "Bad reflexes." The Voodoo Lady chuckled. He scooped the beads up in one hand and closed them in his fist, then looked back at the Voodoo Lady.

"Drop them on the table."

He set the strand down and scooted away, as if afraid of what he'd see. But the beads glittered harmlessly in the torchlight, the same color they'd always been.

"Well..." The Voodoo Lady stared at the beads for a while, then shrugged. "Perhaps Cyrano's talent is waning as the years go by. He never was very good with curses..." She cleared her throat and smiled at Guybrush. "You shouldn't have to worry about this curse, Guybrush. If it hasn't affected you now, it likely never will."

Guybrush let his shoulders slump a bit and sighed with relief. "Great. Thanks, I--"

"_But_..." She arched one eyebrow at him. "There is still the matter of your enemy."

He groaned. "Yeah, LeChuck. He's back again...he's the one you warned me about on Mêlée, right? Do I even _want_ to know how he got control over clocks and storms and bridges? I keep waiting for the ceiling to fall in on me or something."

"He is quite formidable--especially with his newfound powers. I cannot say where he came across such things."

Guybrush rubbed his eyes. "So, what do I need to beat him this time? Please tell me it's nothing involving tourists."

"Actually--"

"I said no tourists!"

The Voodoo Lady smiled. "_Actually_, I believe I know what it is you require--and it is quite safe from tourists."

"Great," he said, standing up a little straighter.

"There is a scroll containing a particular voodoo spell--it was once well known to voodoo practitioners everywhere, but no one could ever make it work."

"...Not so great."

"Well, not work _correctly_--there were a few nasty accidents. The occasional priest who banished himself to the underworld, you know. The United Voodoo Council eventually banned its use and sealed the only remaining copy deep within Vodun Island. Since then an entire community has sprung up on the island around both the university and the legend of the scroll."

Guybrush nodded slowly. "And...this scroll does _what_, exactly? Besides screw up, that is."

"It will summon an ally from one of the planes of the underworld to help you. If it works."

"And it's hidden somewhere on Vodun Island."

"Yes. I can have a map sent to your ship, if you'd like."

"And if it doesn't work, I'll be banished to the underworld and LeChuck'll take over the Caribbean."

The Voodoo Lady smiled faintly. "Guybrush, Guybrush--it _should_ work. I can predict that the ally it will summon for you will be powerful indeed. But..." She raised a hand to stop his unspoken question. "I can tell you no more. Only that it will work, but you must beware the consequences."

He scratched his head nervously. "But, err, I thought you said--"

"Farewell and good luck, Guybrush Threepwood." And with a bright flash of light, the Voodoo Lady disappeared.

Guybrush jumped up out of his seat. "But wait! _What_ consequences? What the heck're you...oh, never mind." He rubbed his temples and sighed. "Elaine's not going to be happy about this..."

* * *

When Guybrush made it back into Puerto Pollo, it was to find a town suddenly come to life with organized activity. People moved back and forth, hauling crates of supplies to and from the fort. He trailed after them with his eyes on the ground and tried to think of the sort of "consequences" the Voodoo Lady had been talking about. His imagination provided him with no end of possible scenarios, and each one was progressively more frightening than the last. He had just started to mull over a "consequence" that involved him switching bodies with LeChuck when someone cleared their throat behind him.

"Going somewhere, plunderbunny?"

Guybrush jumped clear off the ground. "Er--yes--err, no--I mean..." He turned around and tried composing himself. "Er. Sort of."

Elaine smiled. "'Sort of' indeed; if you'd kept going you would've run right into the fort wall." Guybrush turned back around and looked--he was no more than five feet from the far wall of the fort. He blinked.

"Er, thanks." He coughed and changed the subject. "So, um, what's everyone doing...?"

"Moving supplies into the fort," Elaine answered. "Grandpa thinks it's the best idea--if LeChuck's armada shows up here, they'll probably overrun the town. We'll need to get everyone into the fort as quickly as possible if that happens." She paused to shout directions to a couple of men who looked like they'd rather be spending their time catching some rays on the Brimstone Beach, then turned back to Guybrush. "Grandpa's leaving to try and organize some sort of resistance on Booty Island. We've gotten a couple of reports from outlying islands that LeChuck's been systematically attacking every island on the map--he's either looking for us or having fun trashing the place."

"Or maybe both."

She frowned. "Maybe. Well, you'll need supplies, anyway. Come on, I'll help you get the ship ready--and you can tell me what the Voodoo Lady said's going on."

* * *

The _Persephone_ was ready to go an hour later, with her crew assembled and all the supplies resting safely in the hold. Only Guybrush lingered behind again, standing on the docks with Elaine. She was practically pushing him towards the gangplank, but he kept digging in his heels.

"--and if anything happens, I want you to send a messenger for me. I'll come back right away."

"Guybrush, that's silly, by the time the messenger even _got_ there it would be too late."

"And after I'm through on Vodun Island, I'm coming back here. I want to make sure you're all right."

"You'll be wasting valuable time."

"And I want you to go to the Voodoo Lady if the undead start taking over the island; she'll be able to get you out of here."

"_Guybrush Threepwood!_"

He stopped. "What?"

"If you don't get on that ship _right_ now," she growled, "LeChuck won't have to worry about killing you. I'll have done it myself."

"Er." Guybrush blinked, then looked up at the ship and back down at her. "Sorry...I just...you know..."

She smiled faintly. "I know. But you're making us both look ridiculous." She kissed him on the cheek before giving him one last, hard shove towards the gangplank. "Now go on--I'll be fine here, honest."

Guybrush smiled at her. "Well...okay. 'Bye, Elaine--I love you."

"Love you too, plunderbunny. Be careful."

He walked up the gangplank, looking over his shoulder most of the way. Elaine stood on the dock, quietly shooing him onwards. He kept staring back at her.

"Fripweed, would ya move so we can bring up the gangplank?"

Guybrush sighed. "Okay, Carla. Geez." He hopped off the gangplank and helped pull it up, then looked around until he spotted Carla. She was leaning against the side rail with a smirk on her face and a bottle of grog in her hand. Guybrush sighed.

"Well, aren't you two just the cutest little things," she said, snickering.

"Uh-huh. Yeah. Adorable." Guybrush walked over to her and grabbed the bottle out of her hand before she could even protest. "Carla, what did I say about drinking?"

"Not to do it unless it's absolutely necessary! ...Cap'n."

"...Right." He shook the bottle--it was half empty. "Go help Estevan, and try not to fall overboard or anything." He threw the bottle over the side and headed towards the wheel, counting under his breath. "Five...four...three--"--and before he finished, there was a splash and a call of "man--er, woman—overboard!"

"Fish her out," Guybrush said, and calmly went back to getting the ship underway.

* * *

The journey to Vodun Island--after they fished Carla out of Plunder Harbor--proved difficult. The weather was perfect for sailing and the wind was in their favor, but the Voodoo Lady's map proved to be as cryptic as her advice. They got lost and turned around so many times that finally Guybrush took the map and the wheel into his own hands and tried to navigate himself--not that that helped anything. Between Guybrush's navigation and their attempts to avoid LeChuck's armada, the journey took them nearly four days.

Finally, there came the welcome call of "Land ho!"

Guybrush ventured a quick look over the side rail at the island so rapidly approaching on their port side. It was small and altogether very round; according to the map it was (including several tiny outlying atolls) nearly in the shape of a perfect teardrop. They were approaching the wider end, where--according to Estevan up in the crow's nest--there was a harbor. Or at least what passed for a harbor. Estevan had added that he couldn't really tell; they appeared to just dock their ships wherever they had room.

"Okay," Guybrush said, letting out a deep breath. "Let's take her in."

They turned the _Persephone_ about and guided her into the tiny harbor, dropping anchor next to a schooner that looked as if it had seen better days.

Guybrush was just about to order the crew to drop anchor when a short, sprightly little man with long white hair appeared out of nowhere in a flash of bright light. "Ex_cuse_ me? And just _what_ do you think _you're_ doing?"

Guybrush blinked. "Um, docking my ship."

"Oh no you're not!"

He sighed. _Again with the lunatics..._ "Oh yes, I am."

The man blinked and scratched the side of his nose. "All right, so I can't argue with that. You're docking your ship, fine, fine. But you have to have a permit."

"A what?"

"A permit." The man sighed and tugged at the collar of his long green robes. "Oh honestly, you stupid tourists. You all think you can come in and park your ships wherever you darn well want to! Well just because you can do what you like on the _other_ islands doesn't mean that you can do so _here_. We have _standards_, you know."

Carla stifled an obscenity. Guybrush just rolled his eyes. "Okay, okay--look. We're here looking for--"

"Yes?"

He hesitated. "--for...um..."

"Training," Carla answered, leaning against the anchor. "We're looking for training at that university of yours."

The man's face brightened. "Oh. Oh! Well then, go ahead and park your ship here. You can pick up your student permits later. Oh, new students--this is so wonderful!" And with another flash, he disappeared.

Guybrush let out a deep breath. "Wow. O-kay...that was weird...and thanks, Carla."

Carla grinned. "You owe me one, Fripweed." Then, to the rest of the crew, she called, "All right, drop anchor!" She turned back to Guybrush, dusting off her hands. "D'you suppose they have a bar around here?"

He gave her a flat look. "I doubt it, Carla. Can't you just wait here for once? Please?"

"I'll consider it. Maybe."

_Well, it's a start, anyway..._ As he gave a few last minute instructions to his crew--leaving Estevan in charge, as he didn't quite trust Carla with the job--he hopped down onto the makeshift docks and took a look around.

The island was largely overgrown with patches of briar and brush. Only a thin, beaten-down trail indicated that there was actually some form of civilization lurking within. Birds were chirping, but in a distinctly ominous manner. "I guess they don't have many gardeners on this island," Guybrush said, heading for the trail.

Darkness surrounded him the minute he stepped on the path and into the woods. He found himself looking over his shoulder a couple of times at the fast-disappearing _Persephone _and her crew, just to make sure they were still there. But soon enough he went around a bend in the trail and they were lost from sight. Guybrush plucked up his courage and kept walking, hoping he'd find some other sign of life soon. The darkened solitude was already starting to get to him.

He walked for what felt like an hour before he came to a fork in the trail. Then he paused and peered down each path, but both twisted away in some mysterious direction, and he couldn't see where they led.

Sighing, Guybrush looked back the way he'd come--he wished now that he'd thought to ask that strange little man for a map--and then down both paths again. On the left path, this time, there was a little boy standing there. Guybrush jumped.

"Uh...hello," he ventured warily. The boy couldn't be more than three or four years old, from the look of things. He had short, tangled black hair and dark brown eyes that seemed eerily familiar. The boy also had a strong chin, already prominent amongst his other features.

"Hello?" Guybrush tried again. The boy just stood there and looked at him. "Are you lost?"

The boy nodded and stuck his thumb in his mouth. Guybrush scratched the back of his head. "Okay...um, come on then. I'm looking for signs of human life, so I guess you can come with me." He bent down and held his hands out to the boy. "Come on."

The boy didn't budge. He stared at Guybrush's hands almost as if he were afraid of them--when Guybrush tried scooting forward to shorten the distance between them, he recoiled away. Guybrush sighed. "Okay then, _follow_ me, but I'm not going to leave you standing here."

He got back to his feet and took a few, careful steps down the path towards the boy. When he didn't startle or run away, Guybrush took a few more steps, until he was right beside him. The boy peered up at him through those familiar brown eyes.

"Come on," Guybrush said again, feeling a little silly. He started walking away at a slower than normal pace, glancing back over his shoulder every other step to make sure the boy was toddling after him. He was, albeit warily, and any motion of Guybrush's hands towards him caused him to jump. Guybrush wished he'd overcome his apparent hand-phobia; he felt more like he was leading along somebody's dog rather than a child.

"So, um...you wouldn't happen to know if we're on the right path, would you...?" The boy just looked at him blankly. He sighed. "Right."

The rest of the journey they spent in silence. The boy seemed quite content to follow after him wherever he led, and Guybrush didn't have any objection to that. After a time he noticed that the trees began to thin out a little and more light was seeping in through the canopy. The jungle disappeared slowly, until finally the entire path opened up onto a wide dirt road.

Guybrush stopped in his tracks and looked around. The entire place was alive with activity, particularly that of the voodoo variety. People in long robes or exotic dresses hurried from place to place with an air of importance, as if everything they did was essential to the survival of all humanity. Some even teleported from place to place--even across the street to visit a friend; all was done in a bright flash of light.

The shops--or whatever they were--were for the most part more humble than the people who visited them. They were all a bit rundown, with old faded signs that supposedly told what they were. Guybrush couldn't read any of them. Only one was different; it was quite obviously a restaurant or bar of some sort, complete with brightly colored overhang and tables set out front.

Guybrush looked back at the little boy. "I guess you're not going to tell me where to find your mommy, right?"

The boy looked around, then back at him--then went back to calmly sucking on his thumb. Guybrush sighed. "Great...just great. Okay, then we ask somebody. Come on."

He stepped out into the street and picked a random passerby, an elderly woman with long gray hair and a similarly colored dress to match. "Um, excuse me..."

She teleported across the six inches between them and quickly looked him up and down. "Yes?" she asked, sniffing.

"Um...you wouldn't know who this kid belongs to, would you?"

The woman peered around him and recoiled. "The child is Azelma's. You'll find her in the café--and do tell her to keep the child under better watch. It does not do for...strangers to be finding him wandering about the island. Now, if you will excuse me, I have other business to attend to." She disappeared in a flash of light before Guybrush could protest otherwise.

Sighing, he looked back at the boy, who was still blinking innocently. "Looks like somebody doesn't like you. Come on--let's go find your mom."

They walked across the street together and down towards the café. People got out of their way and looked askance at the boy, and occasionally directly at Guybrush. People accidentally teleported into their path more than once, then ducked out of the way without so much as an apology. All the flashing light was starting to give Guybrush a headache. They made it to the café's doors in one piece, and Guybrush waved the boy in ahead of him before ducking inside the dim interior himself.

The place was more of a tavern than the café the woman had described. Men in dark clothing slinked around the room to tables and a lengthy dark marble bar, nursing drinks. Guybrush waved the boy closer to his side and started looking around the room for someone who fit the name "Azelma."

He found her quickly--she was the only woman in the bar. He approached her with some reservation. She had thick auburn hair and brown eyes--eyes Guybrush was sure now he'd seen before, glaring at him back on Mêlée Island. "Excuse me, are you--?"

The woman stood up and smiled thinly at him. "Azelma de Salon, _monsieur_." She didn't offer him her hand. "And you would be?"

"Guybrush. Guybrush Threepwood."

For a moment, he could've sworn he'd seen her eyes glint with something like triumph. But he was sure, a few seconds later, that he was wrong--it was only a trick of the room's poor lighting. "I do not believe I have heard of you, _monsieur_," she continued. "What brings you to Vodun Island?"

"I'm, uh, er. You know. Training."

She raised both eyebrows briefly. "_C'est vrai_? Pardon my saying so, _monsieur_, but you do not seem to have within you the ability to learn. Then again..." She paused and seemed to turn her thoughts even more inward. "Then again, I suppose there are surprises in all our lives, _non_? Perhaps you would like me to escort you to the university? I used to be a teacher there, before the other professors and I had a...how do you say...a falling out, of sorts."

Guybrush shook his head. "No thanks. Look, what I wanted to ask was--" he stepped aside and pointed at the boy--"I found him wandering in the woods. Somebody said he was yours."

"Ah," she said, swooping down and picking the boy up in her arms. "Eligo!"

"Oh, so he has a name." Guybrush grinned. "Sounds kind of...Spanish."

"_Oui._ Is that some sort of problem, _monsieur_?" She raised her eyebrows at him again, obviously expecting an answer.

"Err, no..."

"_Bon_. Now come with me _monsieur_, I must take this little troublemaker home. Then we shall see about this training of yours."

Azelma left the table without a word--and without paying, Guybrush noticed--and walked with a quick, sure stride out the door. He had to hurry to catch up to her. _Well, at least she didn't teleport like everyone else on this crazy island._ She led him down the road towards the beach, where she hurried towards a small, ramshackle house sitting rather precariously on one of the sand dunes.

"This is where you live...?"

"_Oui monsieur_. I did have, as you say, a falling out with some of the more influential members of the university." She forced open the door--which, she explained, was almost always stuck--and went inside. "Wait here for a moment, _monsieur_. I must see how it is Eligo managed to...escape, as you say."

She closed the door, though Guybrush could still hear a rapid-fire stream of French seeping through the thin walls. He didn't understand a word of it, but it didn't sound pretty. He winced. "I'm surprised the kid's not afraid of French, too," he muttered under his breath. Things quieted down, and Azelma reemerged a moment later, straightening her hair as if nothing had happened.

"Now I will show you to the university, _n'est pas_?"

Guybrush hesitated. "Actually..."

"_Oui_?"

"Actually, I'm looking more for some kind of scroll or something. A priestess I know told me I could find it here--and I'm in kind of a hurry."

She nodded. "Ah. You speak of Vodun Island's legendary scroll, do you not?"

"Um...I guess so."

"It is not here."

"But--"

She glared at him, shaking out her long hair. "_Monsieur_, it is only a myth, I assure you. Come, we will walk along the beach and I will tell you."

"Err." Guybrush coughed uneasily, but Azelma gave him an unshakably dark look that forced him to accept. "Okay, okay...geez, you're worse than my wife."

"I heard that, _monsieur_."

* * *

Azelma led him along the beach away from her home and the town, back towards where the jungle started to reclaim the land. The midday sunlight glinted off the ocean's surface, creating an uncomfortable glare. "There," she said, pointing out to one of the atolls that formed the tip of Vodun's strange, tear-like shape. "Do you see the buildings out there, _monsieur_?"

Guybrush squinted--if he tried, he could almost make out faint outlines of tiny buildings decorating several of the larger atolls. "Yes...but what's that got to do with--"

"That, _monsieur_, is the _Université de Vodun_. I believe many of the less...sophisticated locals call it 'Voodoo U.'" She snorted. "The myth of our scroll started there. I can tell you truthfully, _monsieur_, that it is all a myth.

"Many years ago a group of students attempted to summon a spirit to help them pass one of their more difficult examinations. They failed and were severely reprimanded; several of them were expelled. A few...how do you say...copycats attempted to follow in their footsteps, and they too failed. That, _monsieur_, is where the myth of Vodun Island's legendary scroll springs from. Nothing more. I am sorry to disappoint you."

Guybrush listened to her story with a disbelieving ear. When she was finished, he shook his head. "Listen, the Voodoo Lady told me that what I need is here. She's never been wrong before. Just...annoyingly obscure to the point of putting my life in danger. But hey, we all have our off-days."

Azelma offered him a patronizing smile. "True, but I would not trust the word of one of those students who were expelled because of the incident." Guybrush blinked and sputtered, but she continued without giving him a chance to recover. "I think perhaps the thing which you seek can be found on Monkey Island."

Guybrush shook his head and tried to recover himself. "I'm not going to Monkey Island if I don't have to."

"Ah, but you have to, _non_? You must always find your way back there in the end. Why not go now?"

Guybrush took a step backwards. "How did you know about that?"

She smiled again. "I am a trained voodoo priestess, _monsieur_. I know things such as these. Now," she said, her eyes glinting in the light, "what you seek has always been found on Monkey Island. Why should it be any different this time?"

He shook his head. "I'm not going back..._there_ unless I have to." He repressed a shudder. "LeChuck's probably there now--I'm not going in unprepared. That'd be suicide."

"LeChuck? _Oui_, I suppose. But why does it matter who is there? I assure you, you should go to Monkey Island to find what you seek. The scroll may be a myth, but there are other, more powerful artifacts yet to be found. Such as, perhaps, the Secret of Monkey Island? If you were to find it, it could help you." She adopted a more tantalizing, almost seductive tone. "And you do want to find the Secret, don't you _monsieur_? Think of the fame you would gain..."

Guybrush took another, shaky step backwards. "I'm going to go now, okay?"

Azelma simply shook her head at him. "There are things you cannot outrun, _monsieur_."

But to his credit, Guybrush did run rather quickly.

* * *

Elaine walked up onto the roof of the fort and looked around for William Serand, the commander of the fort in Governor Marley's absence and now her second-in-command. She found him leaning against a cannon and staring out to sea.

"Serand!" She strode over to him briskly. "What's all this about?"

He jumped to attention, dusting a smudge off his long blue coat. "The lookout's spotted black sails on the horizon, Ms. Marley. We think it's LeChuck's armada."

Elaine frowned. "That was quick. All right; tell everyone to be ready, step up the defenses...and start evacuating Puerto Pollo into the fort. From what Guybrush told me about what happened on Mêlée, they'll be better off in here."

He nodded. "Right, Ms. Marley."

"_Threepwood_, Mr. Serand," she added quietly. Then, "I understand a ship came into port an hour or so ago. Why wasn't her captain sent directly to me? Why wasn't I given a report, at least?"

Serand frowned, taking her gently by the arm. "I had him report directly to me, Ms. Marley. I thought it would be better if I told you myself."

"Told me _what_?"

"We've heard word from Booty Island," he said, clearing his throat. "The armada came there a few days ago--and I regret to say that their defenses were not nearly as strong as Plunder's. They completely ransacked the town, only a few ships managed to escape--and no one's heard from Governor Marley since."

"You mean he's dead," she said flatly. She swayed uncertainly, one hand on her stomach, and Serand quickly tried to steady her. "Why wasn't I told immediately?"

"I--I thought it best--"

She gritted her teeth. "Well you thought _wrong_, Mr. Serand."

"But Ms. Marley--"

She pulled her arm away from him, recoiling. "For the second time, it's Threepwood, and you'll be calling me _Governor_ Threepwood from now on. Now listen to me: I want you to prepare all the ships and get them into Danjer Cove. I don't want them sinking our ships first thing. Double the island's defenses; make sure we've got enough cannonballs and gunpowder to last through a long siege. We'll fire Blondebeard's chicken at them if we have to, but they're not going to get any further than this fort. Am I clear, Mr. Serand?"

He nodded, caught off-guard by Elaine's sudden transformation into an authority figure. "Yessir--er, ma'am."

"Right. I'll be in the gov--in _my_ office. Let me know when the armada arrives." She didn't even wait for a confirmation before turning and storming back towards the stairs. She paused at the top and suddenly grabbed hold of the wall, resting her other hand against her stomach and wincing.

"Governor," called Serand, noticing her, "are you all right?"

She straightened immediately and nodded. "Fine, Mr. Serand. Now get to your orders." But as she went down the stairs her steps were taken with a bit more caution, and when she reached the bottom she turned to the nearest guard on duty and said, "As soon as she reaches the fort, I want you to send the Voodoo Lady directly to me."

The man nodded. "Aye, I'll do that."

Elaine walked calmly back to the governor's office, closed and locked the heavy door, then sat down at her desk with the same air of calm. She almost started a letter to Guybrush, then tore it up, deciding that he'd just rush back to Plunder from wherever he was and make a complete fool of himself--and her. She brushed the resulting shreds of paper off her desk along with a couple of maps she didn't bother picking up. Sighing, she let her head droop into her arms, losing her stern posture, and waited to hear the first cannon shots.

* * *

Guybrush returned to town and went straight for the café, hoping to find someone worth talking to inside. The first person he spotted was an elderly man in official-looking robes, wearing an excessive amount of rings. He was sitting alone at one of the tables in the back much like Azelma had been, but he looked, somehow, infinitely more approachable than she was. And he didn't look in the least bit French.

Guybrush walked over to him and cleared his throat. "Excuse me--do you mind if I sit down?"

The man looked him up and down, then nodded. "All right," he said in a calm voice that sounded faintly British. "You know, I saw you in here earlier talking with the de Salon girl. I should warn you, that's not a smart way to go about meeting people on Vodun Island."

Guybrush sat down, rubbing his temples. "Yeah, I kind of figured that one out on my own. But I found her son wandering around, and I couldn't just _leave_ him there..."

"Sir--sorry, I don't believe I caught your name."

He smiled proudly. "Guybrush Threepwood."

The man blinked. "Well, sir, believe me, if you'd left the boy where you found him no one on this whole island would care, not even Azelma herself."

He sputtered. "But--but he's her son!"

"I assure you, Azelma wouldn't care if Eligo was her long-lost twin brother. She hates the child just as much as everyone else on this island does."

Guybrush sighed, shaking his head. "Sorry, but that doesn't make any sense. I mean, he's her _son_, and--"

"Sir, allow me to tell you a little story."

He groaned. "Oh man, here we go _again_..."

The man continued with a faint smile. "Azelma de Salon used to be a teacher at Voodoo U, about three years ago. She taught one of the advanced courses in necromancy. That is, before a stranger, a drifter washed up on our shores." He bristled. "He was near death as it was from starvation and his injuries--wherever he'd gotten them from, he wouldn't say. He was an ugly man; the consensus among the more prominent members of Vodun society--myself included--was that he should be left to die.

"Azelma thought otherwise. She took the man in, against my urgings, and proceeded to nurse him back to health. _She_ seemed to think he had...oh, what did she say, 'potential.' We all thought that she was mad, of course. And then we learned that he had asked her to teach him the art of voodoo, including necromancy, no less--and she'd _agreed_!

"She was fired from her position at the university, of course. To teach voodoo to one not enrolled in the university is strictly forbidden; there's no telling what sorts of...odd characters might try to twist it for their own purposes. And then she _married_ the man."

"I guess that's where Eligo comes in."

"Yes. Azelma lost her place in society the very moment the news got out. And of course it all came to nothing anyway. The man was a drifter, a bully, and probably a pirate to boot."

"Hey!"

"He left just as soon as he had learned everything he wanted to learn. He cared nothing for the boy, nor Azelma. Never left a forwarding address or any such thing, not that we wanted him to. Azelma insisted he'd gone to do something or another...I believe she said it was something to do with trying out his new powers on some helpless creature. But he never came back, and she hates the boy for it, of course. Her older brother Cyrano was the only one who cared--he went out after the man, but I don't think he ever found him. He disappeared several weeks ago."

"Cyrano? I think I met--"

"Yes, well, the de Salon family has lost some face, shall we say, on Vodun Island. No one cares for Azelma anymore, and they don't like the boy either--he looks far too much like his father, who was far too much a bully, shall we say. Eligo will probably turn out exactly the same. As I said, it's a bad idea to be associating with that family your first time in town, Mr. Threepwood."

He closed his eyes and sighed. "Okay, I get your point."

The man smiled. "Good."

"But I just wanted to ask you--I'm looking for a scroll an...an old friend told me I could find here. Azelma said it was just a myth. But the thing is, I _really_ need to find it. You wouldn't have any--"

The man leaned in closely, pushing his drink out of the way. "Legend speaks of a scroll buried beneath this island."

Guybrush leaned in too, though he seemed much less intent on secrecy than the other man. "I've heard this before. Repeatedly."

"Yes. Well." He bristled. "I can tell you, it exists. I know the person who knows where it's buried."

Guybrush sighed with relief. "Finally, progress."

"There's only one problem. She's dead."

"Um...just how dead is 'dead?' I mean, really really dead, or just...sort of dead?"

He smiled. "I can speak with her still. Come with me, I will show you."

Guybrush hesitated. "Well, err, I don't know--"

But the man had already stood up and, in a blinding flash of light, Guybrush landed with a thud on a polished floor in a place that was most definitely _not_ the café. "Ow." He sat up and looked around.

The room was a perfect circle, lined on all sides by tables carved to fit the room's unique shape. Each one was filled with vials and jars that reminded Guybrush of the Voodoo Lady's shop. The floor, polished red marble, was swept clean of all dust. The only markings were a circle of white markings in the center of the room, just to the left of Guybrush's feet.

"Wow," Guybrush said, "that's disorienting."

"Welcome," said the man, sweeping across the room and extending a hand to help Guybrush up. "Welcome to the office of Professor Swift. That, of course, would be me."

Guybrush grabbed hold of his hand and pulled himself to his feet. "Uh, thanks." He fished around for something more to say. "Nice...um, nice place you've got here."

Professor Swift beamed. "I'm quite proud of it, thank you. It's not much, but we're a bit cramped for space here these days. Anyway!" He clapped his hands together and shooed Guybrush over to the far wall. "You'll want to get out of the way; summoning is a tricky, tricky business..."

Guybrush swallowed. "You're not going to resurrect this person, are you? Are there going to be any zombies involved? Because I warn you, I have this recurring fear of--"

The professor shook his head and laughed. "No no, nothing of the sort. We're just going to be talking with her spirit, that's all. Very simple, no zombies involved. But I _do_ need you to be out of the way."

Sighing, Guybrush obliged, scooting over to the nearest curved wall until he bumped into one of the tables, nearly upsetting the entire thing. As he tried to keep it stable, the professor went about gathering various powders and things and dumping them into the center of the room, just inside the ring.

"There," he announced, taking a step back to look at his work. "This will work perfectly for the séance. Now here--" he handed Guybrush a small match--"light the fire, and we'll see about summoning old Alene."

Guybrush struck the match on the floor and, after several tries, managed to get it to light. Having had bad luck with matches before, he quickly tossed it into the circle and braced for a possible explosion. The match caught on one of the professor's powders and lit the entire thing with a soft _whump_, flared up for a second, then settled back down to a harmless fire.

"Ah," said Swift, "good. Now--you sit over there, on that side, and I'll sit here."

Guybrush sat down. The smoke from the fire was laced with some sort of strange herbal scent, and it was making his head spin. Professor Swift seemed to take no notice of it. He sat down opposite Guybrush, barely visible through the flame and smoke.

"Alene de Salon," he began, closing his eyes and muttering so that Guybrush could barely hear him, much less, he supposed, any spirits. "We ask you--" The professor stopped and opened one eye. "Sir, you're going to have to close your eyes."

"But I feel silly!"

"Do you want to find this scroll or not?"

"Okay, okay..." Guybrush sighed and closed his eyes.

"Oh Alene," the professor began again, "we ask you to come forward from your place in the afterlife, so that we may ask of you one question." Guybrush heard the fire flickering and the smoke almost became overwhelming. He coughed and struggled to keep his eyes closed, though they watered horribly.

"One question," said a new voice, a woman's voice. She had such a heavy French accent that Guybrush had trouble understanding her. "_Une question, messieurs._ Ask."

When Professor Swift didn't say anything, Guybrush jumped in. "I'm looking for a scroll that's supposed to be buried on this island. It's supposed to bring allies from another universe or...something. I'm not really sure, but--I need to find it. Any idea where it is?"

"_Oui, monsieur._ I placed it in the heart of the island, the place from which the entire island originally springs. It is there that you will find the scroll--but you must beware, _monsieur_. There is _un gardien_--a guardian--whom I have placed in the same area. You must first defeat him to reach the scroll. And I should warn you, he is not easily defeated. Many have tried before--and failed."

Guybrush sighed. _That seems to be a theme around here._ "What is this guardian? Or, er, who?"

She laughed, a delicate, airy sound. "You are only to ask me one question, _monsieur_, and so you have. _Au revoir_."

"But--wait!" Guybrush's eyes popped open just in time to see a longhaired, smoky figure disappear back into the flames, which immediately died out. Professor Swift's eyes opened shortly afterward.

"Perhaps," he said quietly, "you would have been better off accepting the scroll as myth."

* * *

Thanking the professor for all his help and promising that he'd try to stay alive, Guybrush let himself be teleported back to the café. None of the patrons seemed startled by his entrance or even looked up to acknowledge it.

Sighing, Guybrush left the café and strolled through the town, trying to think of what Alene had meant when she'd said "heart of the island" and dodging the occasional priest or priestess who appeared in his path. He had just stepped around another one and was heading for the trail leading out of town when he looked up and happened to see the tip of the island's volcano, peering up over the top of the trees.

He slapped himself in the forehead, muttered "of course," and jogged away towards the volcano.

* * *

The volcano itself was relatively small and inactive, with a steep slope leading up to the top. The entire base was comprised of dark stone dotted occasionally by trees or scrawny little bushes. There was no path, natural or manmade, leading to the top--Guybrush had to scramble his way up on his own, often having to move sideways or even backwards after encountering a ravine too wide to jump across or some other impasse.

He finally made it to the top an hour later, sweating more from exertion than from any heat coming from the volcano. The side he was approaching had a sort of natural fence of stone just before the rim, where some lava had somehow gotten stuck and hardened. Guybrush peered over it warily, afraid of what he'd find.

"Hello!"

Guybrush fell over backwards. Then, standing back up and dusting himself off, he took a deep breath and looked again--ready for any surprise, this time.

The ghost waving to him from the other side seemed, at second glance, rather familiar. He had a tattered blue coat on over more tattered clothes that barely hid his skeletal frame, a peg leg and a faint blue aura. His head popped off and back on again as he spoke.

"Hello again!"

Guybrush tilted his head to one side. A faded memory was starting to come back to him... "Murray?"

"Nope." His head popped off again. "Name's Bob."

"Oh. Can I call you Murray?"

"Nope."

Guybrush sighed. _This_ was the guardian? _Not very inspiring_. "Are you the...um, guardian?"

Bob nodded, which nearly caused his head to fall off. "Well, sort of. See, I've been out of work since some nosy kid blew up my boss four years ago. I came here looking for the job and the guardian who used to work here--you should see him, he's a big scary guy--he let me take over for a few years while he's on vacation. He's been working for over a hundred years without a break!"

"Okay...well, thanks. Bye."

Bob waved again. "Bye!"

Guybrush ducked down below the "fence" and considered his options for a minute. Finally, he crouched down so that he was hidden from view from the other side and started walking along the rim. He walked until he ran out of that natural barrier and the only thing separating him from a long drop down into boiling lava was a few feet. Here, he peered over the edge again, very carefully--wondering just what Bob was standing on that kept _him_ from falling into the lava.

Bob was standing on a thin ledge that extended just a few feet out into the volcano's center. It gradually lessened and turned into a misshapen set of stairs a few feet later, down where Guybrush was standing. He looked at Bob again--he was busy staring at the fence like it was the only thing he was supposed to guard, and Guybrush didn't think he'd take any notice of him. Taking a deep breath, he walked over to the edge and, standing up to his full height, jumped.

He landed with a thud on the stairway, scrambling to catch his balance before he tipped too far one way and fell in. Finally feeling safe enough to stand, he did, clinging to the edge above him for support. He looked back--Bob still hadn't noticed him; hadn't seemed to notice anything at all. Then he looked forward again--the stairs continued down for several feet before turning into the stone of the volcano itself and disappearing into a black, gaping hole. Guybrush plucked up his courage and started his descent.

The stairs were more stable than he thought they'd be so he had no problem walking downwards, so long as he didn't look over at the lava boiling to his direct left. He reached the hole quickly and peered in. All that stared back was a quiet, inky blackness, which Guybrush took for a small sign of good fortune--at least there were no backup guardians lurking inside. He stepped inside and waited for his eyes to adjust.

As things came into focus, he noticed that it was no cavern at all, but a tunnel, one which gradually sloped downwards into an even more disquieting dark. A few feet down from the entrance the light from the lava began to fade, and he hesitated. "Just how far down does this thing _go_?"

"Pretty deep, I think."

Guybrush jumped and nearly hit his head on the low ceiling. "I really wish," he said slowly, turning around, "I really wish that you'd quit scaring me like that."

Bob shrugged and tossed his head from hand to hand. "Well, you're the scaredy-cat here."

"Am not!" Guybrush shot back, glowering. "I'm just a little...nervous."

Bob didn't look very impressed. "Uh-huh. Sure."

Sighing, Guybrush took a few more steps down the tunnel. The further away from the entrance he got, the harder it was to see. He'd never make it down to the end of the tunnel--wherever that was--in one piece if he didn't have some sort of light. He looked back at Bob, who was glowing a faint iridescent blue in the dim light, and suddenly got an idea.

"Hey Bob, how'd you like to come with me on a thrilling adventure?"

Bob shrugged. "Well, gee, I don't know...I'm kind of not supposed to leave that spot...if the guardian comes back, he'll be pretty mad."

"But you've already left that spot! And besides, who's going to come snooping around here anyway?"

His head wobbled uncertainly from side to side. "Well...you did," he said.

Guybrush rolled his eyes. "_Besides_ me, I meant."

"Well in that case, nobody."

"Exactly! See, nobody's going to show up. Now come on, it'll be fun."

Bob tossed his head around for a few seconds, then said, "Okay! But this isn't some plot to push me into the lava or anything is it?"

Guybrush, having already started down the tunnel, looked back with a confused expression on his face. "Why would I do that?"

* * *

Bob actually didn't provide all that much light beyond a faint blue glimmer, but it was enough for Guybrush to see several steps ahead. They walked together in a sort of awkward silence. Bob kept flipping his head around so he could see over his shoulder (something Guybrush found stomach-turning), afraid that the guardian would be there, back from his vacation. Guybrush just concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other without sliding down the rest of the tunnel. As they went the path gradually grew steeper, and the rock beneath their feet was starting to become smooth and polished.

"I don't know how we're going to get back up," Guybrush said, breaking the silence.

"I don't think anybody's supposed to come back. That is, if they made it past the guardian." Bob's blue aura flared briefly as if he had just blushed. "I don't think anyone's ever tried. Not since I've been here, anyway."

Guybrush sighed. "Yeah...I'm beginning to see why." He stopped briefly and stood up on his tiptoes, nearly grazing the ceiling. A faint, warm glow had just appeared in the tunnel ahead--Guybrush couldn't quite make out what it was. "More lava?" he muttered under his breath.

"This far down?"

He looked back at Bob and shook his head. "Wait here, okay? I've got a feeling that this is what I'm looking for."

Bob shrugged. "Okay. Waiting."

Guybrush took a deep breath and started downwards, resting one hand on the wall--the floor was almost perfectly smooth now, and he didn't want to go sliding headfirst into any lava.

What he found at the bottom of the steep incline, far out of sight from his earlier position, was not lava--but lamps. He'd stumbled into a circular room that reminded him a bit of Professor Swift's office, except that instead of being lined with tables, this room was lined with lamps. They glowed quite innocently, though Guybrush couldn't imagine how they'd stayed lit for however many years they'd been down there. And resting in the center of the room, atop of a gilded pedestal, was what he was looking for--a scroll. It was rolled up and tied with a black ribbon that had not well stood the test of time--it was torn, ragged and fading. The scroll itself, though, appeared to be in excellent condition.

"It can't be that easy," Guybrush muttered, searching around for a hidden trap of some sort. He couldn't find any. "Okay," he said, "what's the catch?" His words echoed back unanswered.

Guybrush looked at the scroll again, distrustfully. "It can't be that easy," he repeated. "Can it?"

He decided to test his luck. He took and step forward and, without touching the pedestal in any way, gingerly picked up the scroll. Then he froze with it dangling in midair, eyes closed, waiting for the other proverbial shoe to drop. When nothing happened for what felt like hours, he opened one eye and looked around.

"Whew." He let out the breath he'd been holding and grinned. "I guess it's just that easy." He pocketed the scroll carefully and turned to go. But he'd no sooner set one foot in the direction of the exit when all the lamps went out and he began to hear a low rumbling sound coming from somewhere beneath his feet.

"Uh-oh."

He bolted out of the room and past Bob, shouting for him to follow. It was pitch black; Guybrush couldn't even see his hands in front of his face. There was a brief interlude of light when Bob shot past him holding his head in one hand and muttering, but after he was gone the tunnel was plunged into darkness again.

Guybrush's pace was slowed still further when the ground began to shake. Already unsteady from the uphill run on a relatively smooth surface, he nearly lost his footing altogether. He had to grab onto an outcropping on the wall and steady himself, taking only a split second to catch his breath before he was off and running all over again.

He was nearly to the entrance--he could see a faint light just up ahead--when the ground heaved again, knocking him completely off his feet. His head hit the ground with a sickening thud and he drifted off into blackness, oblivious.

* * *

Guybrush woke up, sat up and rubbed the lump on the back of his head. "I should start a collection," he muttered. Then he looked around.

Instead of inside the tunnel, where he expected to find himself, he was outside in a damp, foggy place that he somehow doubted was anywhere in the Caribbean he knew. A faint wind stirred past him and he shivered, drawing his coat up around him for warmth. He stopped and looked down--he was wearing his old blue coat, the one he'd lost nearly three years ago when he'd been captured by LeChuck. He tugged at the fraying sleeves, a bit more worse for wear than when he'd last seen them, and slowly got to his feet.

"Well, we're not on Vodun Island anymore." He snorted at his own obvious statement and started to look around. The fog obscured nearly everything that was more than two feet away, but Guybrush thought he could make out shapes in the distance, lumpy, square objects tilted at all manner of angles. Guybrush took a few hesitant steps towards one of the larger things and immediately realized what they were--and where he was.

"I'm in a cemetery." He blinked, tilted his head to one side, and sighed. "Oh great, I'm probably dead. Elaine's going to kill me..."

Without even bothering to inspect the rest of the cemetery, Guybrush found the path leading out of the area and took it. His boots crunched against stone and gravel as he walked, somehow always aware of how the path would turn even in the dense fog. It seemed to get lighter as he walked, but Guybrush chalked that up to a trick of the light--what little there was.

He walked for what felt like hours, until finally the fog really did thin out and he could see a murky shape at the end of the path. Finally having a goal in sight, Guybrush increased his pace to a jog and hurried towards the building.

It turned out to be a ruined church, a fragile-looking building made out of broken stones. The ceiling was full of holes and ivy covered all the shattered windows. But for all it looked abandoned, Guybrush couldn't help but feel that there was still someone inside. Curiosity overcame what little caution he had, and he quickly yanked open the polished doors and stepped inside.

The church wasn't quite what he expected on the inside. For one, it was bigger than it looked on the outside. For another, there were no holes in the ceiling when he looked up--or maybe there were, and he just couldn't see them for all the cobwebs and murky blackness. Tall stone pillars disappeared into the distance and empty space.

"Hello?" Guybrush called, only to hear his own voice answer him. The interior was clear of any dust, dirt or furniture. He shrugged and took a step forward--only to find himself blinking in the light as every torch and brazier in the building flared to life.

Just as soon as his eyes adjusted to the light, he looked back up towards the altar, at a scene that made his stomach tie itself into uncomfortable knots. A tall man stood at the altar dressed all in black except for a grinning death's head mask. He was busy cleaning a bloody dagger and paid Guybrush no attention. Beside the altar a faint specter of a woman paced, her long hair flying behind her in some unseen wind. Every so often she would stop and glare in Guybrush's general direction, a look that marred her pretty features. But tied to the altar--Guybrush had to pinch himself to make sure he wasn't dead or dreaming--tied to the altar was Elaine. He knew from first glance that she was dead. Chained to the altar, still and pale, with blood streaming into golden bowls beneath each delicate hand--Guybrush couldn't see how it could be otherwise. He swallowed, blinked away tears, and began the long march forward.

The black-cloaked figure looked up at him as he approached and calmly stepped away. Guybrush pointedly ignored him as he walked to the altar and dropped down to his knees. "Elaine?" He brushed her hair gently, then her face--and jumped back. Her skin was as cold as ice.

The man in the cloak knelt down beside him, pulling his attention away, briefly, from Elaine. He realized then that he'd seen that grinning death mask somewhere before--in a nightmare of his own. He scooted away.

But the man didn't do anything to him. Instead, he picked up one of the golden bowls and stood back up. Guybrush watched him out of the corner of his eye as he walked over to the far wall. He dipped his hand into the blood and started to write.

"Hey!" Guybrush stood up and glared angrily. "What do you think you're doing? Leave--leave her alone!"

The man looked back at him, shrugged, and continued with his work. Guybrush was frozen to the spot--he could do nothing but watch as the man went on writing on the wall. When he was finished, he stood aside so that Guybrush could see it. He blinked and read it aloud. "'Forgive me Father, for I have sinned.'" Looking now at the man, some of his anger and grief replaced by confusion, he said, "I don't get it."

The man's shoulders seemed to slump as if he were disappointed. Then, calmly, he replaced the bowl in its former position and walked out of the church. The doors opened wide for a brief instant, letting in some natural light, then slammed shut with a tone of finality. All the lights in the church went out at once, plunging the entire place into blackness. The only faint light came from the ghostly young woman--and she too soon left, glaring at Guybrush the entire time.

"Hey--hey you!" Guybrush blinked at the voice that seemed to come from, literally, nowhere. His head started to swim as if he'd been underwater for far too long. "Hey, wake up!"

Guybrush stirred and sat up again, this time to a more familiar, warm darkness. He rubbed the bump on his head and groaned. "What happened?"

Bob flopped down in front of him and shrugged. "Volcano almost erupted, they say."

Guybrush rubbed his temples. "'They?' Who the heck're 'they?'"

"Myself and a few others, _monsieur_."

He groaned, suddenly wishing he were back in that nightmare. "Not _you_..."

"_Oui, c'est vrai_." Azelma knelt down beside him and appeared to be inspecting, from a respectful distance, the lump on his head. "It is a miracle you were not killed, _monsieur_. If we had not been able to stop the eruption in time--"

"I would've been a pirate flambé," Guybrush answered. "Look, I'm really very grateful and all, but--"

She arched an eyebrow. "But what?"

"But--" he swallowed and tried to ignore the knot that was still twisting in his stomach--"but I've got to get home. I think--I think Elaine might be in trouble." Scattered images from the dream came back to him just thinking about it. He shuddered.

Azelma laughed. "It is nothing to worry about, _monsieur_. It was only a dream, something caused by your fall, _non_?"

Guybrush shook his head. He'd had fairly surreal dreams before--but this one was even worse than the time his parents had shown up to do a song and dance number. That dream had left him with a vital clue. This one left him with a sick feeling in his stomach that wouldn't go away, no matter how hard he tried to get rid of it. "No, no, I need to go home."

Azelma held out a delicate hand and pinned him to the spot. "You are trying to outrun that which you cannot, _monsieur_. You know--"

"That's enough, Azelma."

Guybrush looked up. Professor Swift had just appeared, dusting soot off his robes. He bent down and tilted Guybrush's head from side to side. His hands were ice cold. "The poor man's lucky to be alive. There's no need to harass him like that." Swift bristled as he tapped the bump on Guybrush's head. Guybrush winced. "Why are you even here, Azelma?" he added with a faint sigh.

"I came to help. I thought perhaps you would appreciate it."

The professor snorted, abruptly letting go of Guybrush's head. "He'll survive, provided you don't get your hands on him. Here," he said, offering Guybrush his hand. "I'll take you back to the path. The tunnel entrance's collapsed--if it wasn't for your ghost friend, you'd likely still be trapped in here."

"Yeah," Guybrush said, "tell Bob I said thanks."

Swift smiled. "Azelma will thank him for you. Won't you, Azelma?"

Azelma gritted her teeth and muttered something under her breath in French. Then, "Very well. Though, _Professor_, when you take him back to the surface--I would search his pockets. I believe he is carrying a scroll that belongs to the university." She smiled primly at Guybrush, then disappeared in a flash of light.

Swift rolled his eyes. "Likes to make up stories, that one." He helped Guybrush to his feet gently and brushed him off. "I suppose this has something to do with the scroll you were looking for."

Guybrush swallowed uneasily. "Well, um..."

Professor Swift held up a hand. "Don't tell me, I don't want to know about it. I know absolutely nothing, not why you were down here or what made the volcano erupt--nothing. Trust me, we're all better off that way. Just don't mention it, all right?"

Guybrush nodded. "All right."

"Good." In another disorienting flash of light, Guybrush found himself blinking in the sunlight at the base of the volcano. A faint trail of ash drifted up from the rim. The professor straightened his robes and cleared his throat. "Well, I should go help the others clean things up a bit--and make sure Azelma hasn't done anything stupid." He disappeared before Guybrush could thank him.

Guybrush, for his part, didn't waste any time. The second he was sure he was alone, he darted off in the direction of the harbor. He stopped only once, to make sure the scroll was still in his pocket, and then he was off and running again.

"Get ready to make sail!" he yelled just as soon as he was sure he was within earshot. Carla's head poked up lazily from below deck.

"What's goin' on, Fripweed?"

Guybrush jumped up on deck and looked at Estevan. "Is she drunk again?"

Estevan nodded. "Yessir. She went into town and got some of the local moonshine."

"Well, at least she had the sense to come back here with it." He sighed. "Get the ship ready to go; I'll deal with her."

"Right." He hurried off to raise anchor while Guybrush pulled Carla up on deck.

"Hey!" she hiccuped, swatting him with the bottle. "What's the big idea?"

"You're drunk, that's what. We need to get back to Plunder as quickly as possible, and you're not making it any easier." He rubbed his temples--he was starting to get a headache, but whether it was from dealing with Carla or the bump on his head he didn't know. "I'm getting sick of you being drunk all the time--you've got a job, what more do you _want_?"

Carla tilted her head at him and smiled, clearly ignoring everything he'd just said. "You know what, Fripweed?"

He sighed. "What, Carla?"

"You're—hic--pretty."

If he hadn't needed her as a third crew member, Guybrush would have thrown her overboard right then and there.

"Ship's ready to go, captain."

He looked back at Estevan and nodded gratefully. "Good. Let's go--we've got to get back to Plunder."

* * *

"Mrs. Threepwood? Are you all right?"

Elaine sat up far too quickly for her liking. "What?" She rubbed her eyes and looked around. She was surprised to find both the Voodoo Lady and Mr. Serand hovering over her. "Oh," she said quickly, "I'm fine. I must have fallen asleep." Then she straightened and immediately assumed her new role as governor. "Mr. Serand, has the attack begun yet?"

"Yes ma'am, just a few minutes ago." As he spoke, a cannonball sailed into the fort wall nearby with a resounding crash. "Luckily," he added, "they built these walls thick."

"Luck has nothing to do with it." She began rifling through some papers on her desk. "You're in charge of the battle for now, Mr. Serand. But I want you to pick at least two citizens to serve as runners between you and myself. I want to be informed the moment anything happens--if I have to, I'll come up and direct the battle myself. Am I clear?"

Serand nodded briskly. "Quite, Governor. I'll return to my men immediately." He bowed his head politely and then disappeared out the door. When he was gone, the Voodoo Lady pulled up a chair and sat down, resting her arms on Elaine's desk.

"You locked the door," she said, smiling warmly. "Mr. Serand and I were both concerned."

Elaine waved her hands absent-mindedly. "Sorry, sorry...I guess I just wasn't thinking."

"Indeed. Did you...hurt yourself?"

"What?" Elaine blinked, shocked, then looked down at her shirtsleeves. On each sleeve, exactly at the crook of each elbow, was a drying bloodstain. She quickly bunched up her sleeves to that the spots weren't visible. "I--I don't think so, it must have been--"

The Voodoo Lady lifted a hand to interrupt her. "I had thought that these strange incidents were over and done with already. Apparently, I was wrong."

Elaine swallowed. "This is exactly what happened to Guybrush back on Mêlée."

"Indeed. You should tell him--if it is some sort of attack, he should--"

"He'll only make a fool of himself," Elaine answered, shaking her head. "He worries too much already. If I tell him that I _think_ somebody _might_ have attacked me, it'll only make things worse. I'll deal with it." She smiled faintly.

"Mrs. Threepwood, if you had a dream when he was attacked, then would the same not be true now?"

"You mean he's had--" She stopped, doing her best to suppress the nausea that came along with images from her dream--faded, but still disturbing nonetheless. She didn't even want to think of what Guybrush might have gone through.

"He should have seen the aftermath of your dream, yes," the Voodoo Lady continued, looking at her with concern.

Elaine flinched and began fishing around for something positive to say or think. "Well...if it's connected to LeChuck, it'll all be taken care of soon anyway. Guybrush is probably on his way to Monkey Island right now with that artifact you told him to find."

"Actually," the Voodoo Lady said, "he's on his way back here at the moment."

"He's--" Elaine dropped her face into her hands. At the same time, another cannon strike hit the fort wall. "Oh, _great_."

* * *

When the _Persephone_ sailed into Plunder Harbor two days later, it was to a graveyard of sunken ships. Masts and torn black sails poked out from beneath the surface of the ocean, creating a maze for their ship to go through. Guybrush's eyes swept the scene with growing dread, then looked to the fort and town just barely visible beyond.

The town was in flames, though not nearly as bad as Mêlée had been--and Guybrush thought he could see people sifting through the wreckage and dousing flames. The fort's walls had fared far worse; the top of one side facing the open ocean had almost completely crumbled. He could see people inside the fort, too, moving weapons about and trying to repair the damage as best they were able.

Guybrush turned to his crew. "I'll just take one of the rowboats in...there's no point in wrecking the hull against all that."

Estevan nodded. "Aye. It's all still smoking, at that--LeChuck'll likely be back with more. We'll stand guard."

They prepared one of the boats for departure and Guybrush quickly rowed it to shore, avoiding the treacherous maze as best he could. He made it to shore with little damage to the boat and quickly docked her at the Plunder Harbor docks. There were no other boats there--Guybrush wondered if they'd been sunk, too.

As he jumped out of the boat, a young man practically covered in soot approached him. "Who're you?" he demanded, giving Guybrush a quick poke in the chest with his pistol.

Guybrush rolled his eyes impatiently. "Guybrush Threepwood. Now if you don't mind, I'm looking for--"

The man's eyes went wide and he quickly holstered his gun, rubbing some soot from his nose. "Governor Mar--"

"Threepwood!"

"Right, she's in the fort." He swallowed. "You'd best go there right away."

Guybrush, turning pale, didn't wait for any further explanation. He dropped the oars back into the boat and ran straight for the fort, jumping over downed trees and other debris as he went. When he reached the fort, he found it a center of activity. Men sprinted from place to place carrying weapons and the occasional wounded man. Guybrush tried flagging several of them down, but to no avail.

Finally, frustrated, he grabbed the nearest man forcefully by the shoulder and demanded, "Where's Elaine?"

The man looked annoyed for a brief instant before he answered. "She's in her rooms, _sir_. But she's given strict orders that no one's supposed to go anywhere near there except--"

"I'm her husband, she'll make an exception." Guybrush let go of the man and sprinted off towards the stairs. He knew, vaguely, where the governor's rooms were, and he hoped that his memory wasn't as faulty as it usually tended to be in a crisis.

He began to assume that he was headed in the right direction when traffic in the halls thinned out and an uncomfortable silence started to hang over the area. Finally, he came to a room that looked promising--the door was ajar and there was a guard standing outside.

"Excuse me!" he called, struggling to catch his breath as he came to a sudden stop. "I'm looking for Governor--"

"Finally!" The woman pushed the door open a little bit more and motioned for him to go inside. "Do you have any idea how _late_ you are? It's been three hours! Go on, inside, quickly!"

Guybrush turned a bit paler and stepped into the room on tiptoe.

A woman bustled across the room, looked up at him and then returned to whatever it was she was doing. The Voodoo Lady sat out of the way in one corner--she nodded at Guybrush as he came in, the first to fully acknowledge his presence. He found Elaine lying on the bed propped up by half a dozen pillows, sweat running down her face.

"Elaine?"

She waved him over. "Guybrush, there you are," she said with a note of relief in her voice.

He sat down on the bed beside her, even though the strange woman shot him a dark look for it. "What's going on?"

"She's in labor, that's what," snapped the woman. She flicked a strand of black hair out of her eyes and glowered at him even more. "Honestly, _men_."

Guybrush's eyes went wide. He looked back at Elaine, resting one hand on her stomach. "You—but--I--but!"

Elaine chuckled weakly. "The baby's just the impatient type, I guess. As for _you_..." She reached up and grabbed him by the shirt collar with a strength Guybrush didn't know she possessed, dragging him down until his nose touched hers. "_You_ should have gone straight to Monkey Island!"

He swallowed. "I thought you might be in trouble," he squeaked. Then, with a touch more resolve in his voice, "And I'm staying here until the baby's born."

"No you're not."

Guybrush blinked, taken aback. "But—but--"

She gripped his shirt tighter and winced. There was a tense silence, and then she relaxed again. "Guybrush Ulysses _Threepwood_," she began, "you're going to get back on your ship and go to Monkey Island and defeat LeChuck. I don't want to see you again until you've done just that. Clear?"

Guybrush pried her fingers away from his shirt collar and held her hand gently. "But the trip'll take at least three days, just to _get_ there! I'll never make it--"

"I know." Her expression softened slightly. "Don't forget that when you're fighting LeChuck. It's _his_ fault."

The woman who had been on guard outside ran in. "Governor, we've just had word, there's another fleet of ships headed for Plunder."

Guybrush started stuttering again while Elaine calmly took charge. "Then tell the repair crews to pick up the pace. I want every cannon in this fort working again by the time those ships arrive. Tell Mr. Serand that I want a report in my hands within the hour on how much powder and shot we have left; I'll divide it up accordingly once I see it. And tell the men down in Puerto Pollo to get back here right away. If there's anything worth saving, it'll be gone in the second attack no matter what we do."

The woman nodded. "Right away, Governor." She ran back out, leaving the door ajar again, and in the silence that followed they could all hear her footsteps echoing down the hallway.

Guybrush looked back at Elaine. "I can't leave you," he said softly.

"You'll have to," the other woman in the room answered. She bustled over to the bed and elbowed her way past Guybrush to drop a bowl of water on a nearby table. She dropped a rag in and wrung it out, then laid it across Elaine's forehead. "She wants you gone, you go."

"Who're you?" Guybrush shot back, a little belatedly.

"She's the midwife, plunderbunny."

"...Oh." He scratched the back of his head and generally felt uncomfortable until another grimace flickered across Elaine's face. "Um, Elaine--"

"I'm _fine_, Guybrush. Now if you don't get up right now and go--"

"But--" He sighed and looked at the midwife. She didn't look to be at all on his side, but it was worth a shot. "Can't I stay? It won't be much longer, will it?"

The midwife laughed. "It'll be long into the night before this one's born. Going to be a long night, yessir."

"Well--can't you tell her to wait until I get back?"

Elaine looked as if she might punch him. "All right, that's it, everyone out. Out! I don't want any witnesses."

The Voodoo Lady and the midwife swiftly left the room, the latter chuckling under her breath. As soon as the door shut, Guybrush squeaked out a "please don't kill me" while Elaine just rolled her eyes.

"I'm not going to kill you, Guybrush."

"Well, that's a relief."

She smiled, but it quickly faded into a pinched frown. "Guybrush, _please_. You _have_ to go."

"But those ships--"

"--will come whether or not you stay. I don't know if the fort can withstand another siege, and if LeChuck captures you then, we may not have another chance at fighting back. Beyond you and this fort, there's nothing standing between LeChuck and the rest of the Caribbean." She closed her eyes and sighed. "We had word while you were gone--he took Booty Island a few days ago."

Guybrush bit his lower lip. "What about Grandpa Marley?"

"Nobody's...nobody's heard." She blinked something out of her eye that might have been a tear. "They're assuming he's dead."

He shook his head, trying to think of something to say to fill the sudden, awkward pause. "Geez, Elaine, I'm..."

"Don't worry about it," she snapped back. Guybrush winced at the rough, raw tone her voice took. "We don't even know for sure yet; it's just a rumor, really. He might even have been captured, and the only way to find out if that's true is--"

"To go find LeChuck, presumably on Monkey Island," Guybrush finished. "But if he captures _you_ while I'm gone--"

She shook her head. "It's happened before, plunderbunny. That's why the Voodoo Lady's here--just in case. She can get the baby to safety if we can't hold the fort."

Guybrush nodded faintly and looked down at her stomach, half-hidden by twisted sheets and her long white nightgown. "I'm not so sure I like this kid. She's got lousy timing."

Elaine's hand bunched into a fist. "Guybrush Ulysses--"

"Kidding! I was kidding!"

She relaxed a little and shot him a dark look. "You'd better be," she said under her breath. "Now you're just wasting time, quit dragging your heels and get moving."

Guybrush nodded slowly, finally admitting defeat. "Good luck, Elaine. Er, holding the fort, I mean, not--"

She laughed. "You _still_ don't know how to talk to women." Then she paused, her expression becoming more serious. "Come back as soon as you can. I'll--_we'll_ be waiting."

He kissed her and squeezed her hand one last time. "Tell Armena I'm sorry I couldn't be here--but it's her own darn fault." He grinned even as she glared. "I was kidding again, honest!" he said the last quietly, with a hint of sadness in his voice. Then he stood up and slipped out the door.

* * *

He returned to the docks with a brisk step, trying to belay the heavy guilt he felt. He looked back at the fort often, taking note of all her battered defenses and silently hoping that she'd be able to stand until he could make it back.

When he reached the dock where he'd moored the rowboat, he was surprised to find two things--one, the _Persephone_, anchored where the rowboat should've been. And two, Carla standing on the docks with a grim and sober expression on her face. She shoved a sack full of what Guybrush could only assume were random objects into his hands the second he was within reach.

"We heard," she said, as if that explained everything. "Now come on, the ship's ready to go at your order, cap'n. We're going to try and outrun those ships coming in. It'll be tight, but if you get that recipe...voodoo...thingy...whatever working, we'll make it." She patted him on the shoulder gently, if not awkwardly. "We'll get you back to see your little girl yet, Fripweed."

Guybrush's face broke out into a genuine smile. "Thanks, Carla."

She nodded. "Just get moving. And, by the way--that's two you owe me now."

* * *

When they regained consciousness approximately three days later, it was to find the familiar landscape of Monkey Island off their port side. Preparations were quickly made for Guybrush to go ashore under the cover of the fast-approaching darkness. Guybrush didn't help with any of them--he stayed by the side rail as if he'd been glued there, watching for signs of life on the island.

Carla joined him as night fell. "The rowboat's ready anytime you are, Fripweed."

"You know," he answered, "I'm probably a father by now."

"After three days?" She snorted. "Geez, I hope so."

He ignored her. "I wonder if Elaine's all right. I mean, with the siege and everything, it's been three whole days..."

Carla rolled her eyes at him. "She lived happily ever after. There, does that help? Meanwhile, we're practically sitting ducks out here if any of those other ships show up and wonder why we're not out wreaking havoc and mayhem."

That seemed to snap him back to reality. Turning away from the rail, Guybrush quickly resumed his role as captain, giving the crew a few last minute instructions before casting off in the rowboat.

He rowed to shore quickly and easily, concealing the boat as best he could beside a banana tree. He doubted it would stay hidden for very long; he just had to hope that it would go unnoticed until it was too late for anybody to do anything about it. From there Guybrush crept on into the forest, which seemed to have grown back somewhat since he'd last visited. But for all it seemed healthy on the flora side of things, the pervading silence of any kind of wildlife was more than a little unnerving. Light from the nearly-full moon lit the path faintly and allowed him to see where he was going without tripping over his own feet too much.

Guybrush headed in the general direction of the Monkey Head, or at least the Monkey Head's shattered remnants, hoping to find something of interest there. But the closer he got to the area, the more that plan started to seem like a bad idea. The place was literally swarming with undead; Guybrush kept having to go more and more out of his way to avoid running into the skeletal patrols.

"I didn't know there were this many dead guys in the Caribbean," he muttered under his breath. Wishing somewhat belatedly that he'd thought to bring a sword with him, Guybrush began the walk towards the lava field. "How I'm going to get past them all, I have _no_ idea."

The forest ended long before the lava field began, leaving Guybrush with a span of completely open terrain to get across before he could make it to the relative safety of the other side of the island. He didn't even want to think about crossing the lava flow that split the island in two.

When he reached that spot he paused behind a particularly leafy palm tree, looking around. There didn't appear to be any undead pirates lurching about, and it looked as if the island's volcano had become inactive once again--the lava field had turned to solid rock. Guybrush took a deep breath and a chance; he ran across that open, faintly grassy terrain as fast as his feet would carry him.

He was nearly across before one of the patrols came out of the forest behind him and, seeing him, broke into pursuit. Guybrush was nearly to the old lava field by then, but a second patrol appeared on the other side, almost as if they had been expecting him. Guybrush had no choice but to hold up his hands in surrender.

"Heh, hi," he offered meekly as both patrols surrounded him and began searching him for weapons. "I'm selling these fine leather jackets..."

The skeletons, binding his hands behind his back with a short length of rope and surrounding him on all sides, led him to exactly the place he wanted to go. They marched him with swords drawn over to the other side of the island and down a well-traveled path towards the Monkey Head. As they passed the path that led to the old cannibal village, Guybrush couldn't resist a quick peek down it. He wasn't surprised to find it abandoned, though he was surprised to see that LeChuck hadn't burned it yet. He'd burned pretty much every place else, after all.

When the skeletons finally brought him to the clearing, they didn't pause or even hesitate at the rubble and scattered debris. In fact, they didn't even slow their steady pace when they began getting a little too close to the Monkey Head's old resting place for Guybrush's comfort.

"Hey, um, guys, no offense, but the last time I was here there was kind of this gaping hole and--ow!" One of the skeletons prodded him forward with the tip of its sword, causing him to jump and pick up the pace a little bit. They paused to let a patrol go by--Guybrush tried to see whether or not they were climbing out of the hole where the giant robot had been, but he couldn't see much of anything besides a bunch of skulls.

Just as soon as the patrol had gone by, the group in front marched forward and disappeared, to Guybrush's relief, down a flight of stairs. "You know, you could've just told me those were there," he said, even as one of the skeletons in back pushed him so hard he nearly fell down the stairs.

The walk down was short and the stairs opened up to a low-ceilinged cavern lit by a steady flow of lava and unnaturally red walls. Skeletons and ghosts alike swarmed in the enclosed space, flitting back and forth and organizing themselves. Several patrols and what looked like a crew for a ship moved out while Guybrush's group was passing through. The heat from the lava flow started to become overwhelming the further back they went; Guybrush started sweating and another knot formed in his stomach.

One of the skeletons grabbed him roughly from behind the moment they were out of the cavern and into similarly designed tunnels. It half-carried, half-pushed him down through a twisting maze of passages that looked all alike. Guybrush tried to memorize the route, but that idea quickly proved futile--they were moving much too quickly for his memory to keep up with.

They brought him, silently, to an open pair of doors carved out of solid stone. Several skeletal guards stood outside at attention. Guybrush's escort took him through those doors and into another cavern remarkably similar to the entrance.

He peered over the skeletons' heads as much as he could, trying to catch a glimpse of LeChuck. All he could see, though, was a raised dais in the center of the room, made of stone, which looked as if it might lead to some sort of throne.

The skeletons dropped him face-first on the floor and were then apparently dismissed, because they turned around and marched back out. Guybrush heard them slam the doors shut with a sharp tone that left his ears ringing.

Guybrush waited for a few seconds, gathering up his courage. Then he lifted his head to meet LeChuck face to face. He looked--and stared.

"Hello, Threepwood."


	5. Act Five: Serve Cold

_Act Five: ...Serve Cold_

* * *

Guybrush stared with mingled shock and horror. Largo LaGrande sprawled lazily on the stone throne in the center of the room, watching him with a cruel smirk on his face. He looked just as he had three years ago, with his white shirt and green pants, prominent chin and beady black eyes. There wasn't a hair out of place; it was as if he'd walked away from LeChuck's fortress three years ago to sit down in that throne and had been waiting there ever since.

"_Largo_?" was all Guybrush could manage.

Largo arched one thick eyebrow. "You were expecting maybe LeChuck?"

"Well--well--yeah, maybe."

Largo snorted. "You've gotten pretty stupid these past three years, Threepwood."

"Hey!" Guybrush recovered his senses a bit and tried to stand, to put himself at equal height with Largo. But he couldn't find enough leverage with his hands tied behind his back. Finally, he sighed and settled for another attack. "Well, at least I don't wear a _bra_. Now come on Largo, where's LeChuck? I'm supposed to blow him up today."

"He's dead, Threepwood. Dead and for once _not_ coming back!" He jumped up and walked down the dais until he was only inches away from Guybrush. Then he reached his hand out and grabbed Guybrush's chin roughly--Guybrush could feel tiny, rough scars on his fingers. "It's just you and me, Threepwood."

"Oh, how cliché."

* * *

Her hands were so tiny, she could barely grab hold of Elaine's pinky. But she had a surprisingly strong grip--and she wasn't afraid to use it, either. Elaine had had to quickly learn how to make notes and write reports with only one hand, while Armena Torquemada Marley-Threepwood clung quite happily to the other.

Mr. Serand knocked on the door that morning to find two sets of eyes looking at him. "Ex--excuse me Governor, I didn't mean to interrupt, but--"

"You're not interrupting anything, Mr. Serand." Elaine set her pen down and looked up. "I was just going over some reports."

"Right, I--" He paused and tugged at his shirt collar. "Didn't the midwife order you to stay in bed?"

Elaine looked at the paperwork piled on her desk and snorted. "It's been three days; I think I've rested long enough. Besides, I was going stir crazy by day two." Armena gurgled, as if trying to confirm what her mother had said, and temporarily dropped Elaine's pinky to make a grab at her pen. "Hey--give that back, you!"

Serand smiled faintly. "It looks as if she's taking after her mother already."

"I wouldn't be too sure about that," Elaine answered dryly, taking the pen back. "She's trying to steal it, not use it."

"Right--well--I just wanted to let you know that LeChuck's ships are still out there. Just...waiting. We've managed to restore a handful of the fort's defenses in the meantime, but if they launch a new assault we may not be able to hold them off. And that Blondebeard fellow won't lend us his chicken. He said something about 'bad press.'"

Elaine laughed. "He would. And for now, Mr. Serand, be grateful for the lull in the fighting. The sound from the cannons was keeping Mena up at night."

"We heard, believe me." Serand grimaced faintly, then his expression returned to its normal, neutral look. "Sorry, Governor. Didn't mean to insult her."

"I don't think she took any offense." She brushed a tiny tuft of blonde hair away from Armena's forehead. Her dark blue eyes were starting to close. "I think she's finally going to sleep."

He nodded. "If you'd like to inspect the work we've done..."

"No, thank you. Mena's not the only one here who needs sleep."

"All right," Serand said, turning to go. "I'll let you know if the situation changes."

"Mr. Serand--has...has there been any word from Guybrush?"

He turned back around and looked at her. Her gaze kept flickering between him and her daughter, her expression hopeful. "It's only been three days, Governor. I'm sorry, but he's probably only just arrived on Monkey Island."

She nodded, trying to hide her disappointment. "Right, I forgot. Sorry--you can go now."

Serand left without another word. When he was gone and the door had closed, Elaine slowly got up and walked over to the crib a group of citizens from Puerto Pollo had built the moment they had learned she was in labor. It was slightly misshapen, but it was the thought that counted. She set Armena down in it gently and then stood back, watching.

"He said he was sorry," she whispered. "He's busy trying to save your life. Honest." Armena snorted and twisted in her sleep.

* * *

Guybrush didn't take Largo at all seriously until he pulled out a knife. It looked more like something one might steal out of a kitchen more than an actual pirate knife, but the mere fact that Largo had it pressed against his throat was enough to convince Guybrush that he meant business.

"Do you have any _more_ witty comments, Threepwood?"

"Er, well--" Guybrush swallowed and wiggled his hands around a bit, straining against the ropes--"D'you think you could maybe—um--"

"Oh right, how stupid of me." He pulled the knife away from Guybrush's throat and then, in one quick dive, cut the ropes tying his hands behind his back. "Is that better, or do I need to stand you up and give you a bandaid, too?"

Guybrush cleared his throat, rubbing his battered wrists. "No, I'm just--" He paused, trying to collect himself. Then, thinking quickly, he switched tactics--and tried to regain even a fraction of his former confidence. "So, um, Largo...why're you here?"

Largo snorted and returned to his throne, knife still drawn and ready. "You're going philosophical in your old age, Threepwood." He swung his feet up onto one of the armrests. "I'm here because of _you_."

"Oh really? Well, I'm flattered, but--"

"Quit interrupting me!"

Guybrush coughed. "Er, sorry." He shifted his position around so that he could sit more comfortably--and have better access to his right pocket, where he'd put the Vodun Island scroll. "Go ahead, tell your story...I should be used to these things by now."

Largo smirked, briefly, before his face returned to that distinctly unamused expression it had had when Guybrush had been brought in. "I figured you were the one who blew up LeChuck's fortress, right?" He didn't even wait for confirmation before continuing on. "See, you're lucky, Threepwood. You got away without a scratch, you and your dumb luck. Me, I don't have luck like you do. I've got more what you might call _bad_ luck. 'Cause _I_ just happened to wash up on a stupid island full of _morons_ who wouldn't know a bandage if it jumped up and hit 'em over the head." He sat up and faced Guybrush. "They did know a few tips for making masks, though. This one's pretty good, isn't it Threepwood?"

"Well, it's kind of ugly."

Largo rolled his eyes, seeming to take no offense to the insult. "Humor me. And I thought I told you to quit interrupting."

"You asked a que--"

"Shut _up_!" Guybrush snapped his mouth shut and didn't say anything more. Largo, regaining his calm composure, continued. "Like I was saying--the mask. It's nice." He stood up. "But I don't know, I've kinda gotten used to seeing all the scars. They remind me of _you_." He paused, waiting to see if Guybrush would interrupt with another smart-alec comment, but for once he kept quiet, watching through wide eyes. Largo didn't waste any more time with grandiose speeches--he waved one hand and his entire appearance changed.

His clothes faded, his white shirt becoming more of a filthy gray with a tattered gray coat--it rather reminded Guybrush of the fancy one he'd had--to match. His green pants, too, faded to more of a dull puce, and there were a handful of sewn patches around the knees. But the most dramatic change came in Largo's face--Guybrush could barely stand to look at him.

Largo LaGrande had never been confused with handsome in the first place, but now it was even worse--the explosion at LeChuck's fortress had obviously done him no favors. The entire right side of his face was a mess of scar tissue, leaving him blind in that eye. His chin was bent slightly out of shape by it, and his nose looked as if it had been broken--and then hadn't healed properly. It was twisted at a faint angle that was distinctly not normal.

Guybrush, staring up at Largo with a faint feeling of nausea, could only think of one thing to say--"Yich."

Largo stared at him. "Yich?" he shouted, reaching out one hand as if he might throttle Guybrush with it. "That's all you've got to say?"

"Well...um...double yich, then?"

Largo sighed. "Three years of planning and all he can say is 'yich.' Wonderful."

* * *

Mr. Serand knocked on Elaine's door again, several hours later. He had to knock twice before she finally opened the door, yawning. "What is it, Mr. Serand?"

"Well--two things, Governor. There's been some suspicious movement spotted on the ships; we think they may be preparing another attack. And for another, there's someone here demanding to see you."

Elaine rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and stood up straighter. "Who is it?"

"He didn't give me a name, but he says it's urgent. We think he arrived on one of the last ships that came into port before the first attack began. And...he did say that he knew your husband and had some sort of information about him."

"Have him brought to my office; I'll be there in a minute." She slammed the door shut and hurried to get dressed.

* * *

Largo reached the end of the dais, turned and started pacing again. Guybrush watched him silently from his position on the floor. They'd been trapped in this position for what felt like hours. His legs were cramping underneath him and he was trying very hard not to yawn. Largo was obviously trying to cut an imposing figure, but Guybrush was less than impressed.

"All right!" Largo said, startling Guybrush back to attention. Largo stepped down from the dais again, approaching him with knife drawn.

"Uh, please don't--"

"Beg for your life later, Threepwood."

Guybrush grimaced. "There's going to be a later?"

Largo bent down and lifted his chin with the tip of his knife. "You bet, Threepwood." He pulled the knife away and straightened. "I learned a few things from the morons who did this--" he pointed at his scarred face--"to me. Voodoo stuff and all that. I thought it might come in handy when I bumped into you again. So tell me Threepwood, you had any dreams lately...?"

* * *

Elaine strode into the governor's office with an air of authority that sharply contradicted the dark circles under her eyes and the frown on her face. The moment she entered the room a man stood up from the chair in front of her desk, his dark brown eyes sweeping over her appearance before he inclined his head to her politely.

"_Bonjour madame_. I do not believe we have had--"

"Stow it," she snapped back, sitting down at her desk. "And sit down."

He looked angrily at Serand, who was standing in the corner. Serand only shrugged. Sighing, the man sat back down and straightened out his long dark robes. "As I was saying--"

"My second-in-command said you had information about my husband. Now I want to know what you know, and how." She paused, then added as an afterthought, "And--_who_ you are, too."

He smiled faintly and looked over his shoulder at Serand again. "I would be happy to tell you, _madame_, but I am afraid that the information is...how you say...sensitive. I should reveal it only to you."

Elaine waved her hand to dismiss Serand immediately, but he stayed put. "I'm sorry Governor, but with the current situation, we can't take the chance. He'll have to say whatever it is to both of us."

The man sighed, flicking a lock of his long auburn hair out of his eyes. "If _monsieur_ so insists," he said, shaking his head. "I, _madame_, would be a voodoo priest of the highest rank. And you would be the wife of that insufferable Threepwood character, _n'est pas_?"

Elaine suddenly became very interested in a mark on her desk. "It depends," she answered. "What's he done now?"

"Well, it seems to me that _madame_ has a bit of trouble with those ships in her harbor. Other islands have had difficulties with them too, _non_? They say it is a fleet led by a _Monsieur_...LeChuck, is it?"

She nodded. "That's right. Guybrush's gone--" she cleared her throat, stopping herself before she revealed too much. "I'm sorry, you were saying?"

"_Oui_, I was saying that I would take care of this _petit problème_ in exchange for some information which I have been seeking."

Elaine looked up, glaring at him. "If you don't get to your point soon--"

"I'm looking for a man known as Largo LaGrande. We have a...discussion which we have yet to finish. And I know that your husband knows him, am I not correct?"

"They've met."

"Ah, _bien_." He straightened in his chair, smiling. "Then the matter is simple. You tell me where your husband is, and in exchange I will use my voodoo powers to take those pesky ships from your harbor. And he will be able to tell me where LaGrande is. Are we agreed, _madame_?"

Elaine shook her head, trying to appear calm, though her hands were slowly clenching into fists. "I can't tell you that."

"But whyever not?"

"I'm sorry," she said, adopting a lighter tone, "what did you say your name was again?"

"I did not give it."

"Right--Mr. Serand, get this man out of my fort." She stood up and motioned at the door, her face calm. "I won't give information to a man who's probably a spy. Your information's out of date, anyway--Largo LaGrande is dead."

"He is not--I have been forced to live with the sight of him for almost three years!"

Elaine continued as if she'd never been interrupted. "And you--you're the lunatic who tried to curse Guybrush, aren't you?"

"_Oui_--but only because he is a complete _idiot_. I cursed him only with what he deserved--which is less than what I wanted, _c'est vrai_, but I do have my pity. I was willing to make a bargain with you because I believed you to be much more...shall we say...intelligent than _Monsieur_ Threepwood, and I--"

"Mr. Serand, if you don't get this man out of my office in the next ten seconds, I'll throw him out myself."

Serand moved to grab the man by the arm, but he pushed him away with surprising strength, glaring at Elaine. "You, _madame_, are no better than your husband! I hope you are all unmade by _les mains de Midas_!"

Elaine stepped out from behind the desk, moving to grab him herself. "I thought I told you--"

"I will curse you too, _madame_, with--"

He didn't get a chance to finish his sentence--Elaine punched him so hard that he hit the floor. Mr. Serand hauled him to his feet and dragged him out of the room, promising to make sure he kept out of the fort.

Elaine sank into her chair when they were both gone and the room was quiet again, sighing. "It's only nonsense," she said under her breath. "He can't do anything. Then she paused, looking around. "But why is he looking for Largo--"

She never finished that thought. A cannonball slammed into the fort walls, shaking the entire fort. Elaine cursed under her breath and ran from the room.

* * *

"That was _you_?" Guybrush asked, wide-eyed. "You're the guy with the creepy mask?"

"Yep."

"But--but--he's tall!"

Largo's face twisted into a snarl. "Are you saying I'm short, Threepwood?"

"Uh--er, no, I just...never mind." Guybrush shook his head. "I thought it was LeChuck."

"LeChuck's too dumb to pull anything like that off, moron, and you know it." Largo snorted. "Now listen. LeChuck's not here--I am. And I--"

"But one of your--well, I guess they're yours, anyway--skeletons said that LeChuck sent him. So if you're not LeChuck, and obviously you aren't, then--"

Largo jumped across the few feet of space between them and punched him in the face hard enough to send him reeling. He grabbed Guybrush by the shirt collar and hauled him up. Guybrush blinked, dazed. "I'm only going to say this _once_, Threepwood. So _listen_." Largo dropped him to the floor with a thud and resumed pacing.

"The skeletons think I'm LeChuck. It's easy," he said, and in an instant his entire appearance changed again. He now was well over six feet tall, with LeChuck's familiar beard and dark, hateful eyes--all in his old zombie form. "Masks," he said again, this time in LeChuck's voice, before he returned to being Largo LaGrande again. "Voodoo's easy when you know how."

"Yeah?" Guybrush muttered, rubbing the bruise on his jaw. "I didn't think you were smart enough to learn things like that."

"You're just begging for another punch to the face, aren't you Threepwood?" He laughed and dropped back onto his throne, seemingly at ease again.

When he didn't say anything for a long time, Guybrush tried prompting him while he fished in his pocket for the scroll again. "Right...so...you tricked the skeletons into thinking you were LeChuck. Then...?"

Largo shrugged. "I sent them out after you. Oh, and I told 'em to wreck as much stuff as they could along the way. Did they do a good job?" Guybrush only grunted in response. "I've been looking for you, Threepwood--you sure know how to run and hide, don't you?"

"Hey!"

"Thanks for coming here for me, by the way. I really hate having to drag people in kicking and screaming. They always make so much noise. Anyway--you're here. I'm here." He got down from his throne again and moved towards Guybrush. "It's about time."

* * *

Elaine brushed a layer of dust off her forehead and turned to Serand. "I take it," she said thinly, "that it's not going well."

"No, Governor. We managed to sink several more of their ships, but--" a cannonball hit the walls nearby--"but the other ones are obviously better armed than we thought."

She winced, then winced again as Armena began to cry. "Have they sent out any longboats?"

"Several; we managed to sink them all. But they're preparing more, and we can't possibly--"

"We'll try," Elaine interrupted, picking Armena up and trying to calm her down. "Make sure everyone's armed--I have a feeling well be fighting on land soon enough."

Serand nodded and turned to go, then stopped and looked back at her. "Governor, you might consider leaving the island..."

"I can't and I won't, Mr. Serand," she snapped back immediately. Armena squawked loud enough to temporarily drown out the cannonfire outside and leave Elaine's ears ringing. She closed her eyes and sighed. "...All right, I can't keep Mena here, I know. LeChuck would--just--just tell the Voodoo Lady I want to see her immediately."

He nodded again. "Right away, Governor."

* * *

Largo sheathed his knife and extended a hand out to Guybrush, as if to help him to his feet. "C'mon, Threepwood. I want to show you something."

"Like what," Guybrush shot back, still rubbing his jaw, "the bottom of a deep dark hole?"

Largo paused, thinking for a moment. "Maybe later. Now come on."

Guybrush reluctantly reached out and took Largo's hand, pulling himself to his feet quickly and then jumping away, afraid of what Largo might do. But Largo only smirked and started walking towards his throne again. Only this time he went around it, into a dimly lit section of the cavern. Guybrush trailed warily after.

Largo led him over to the far wall and waved his hand at it. "Take a look, Threepwood."

Guybrush peered into the darkness, keeping his distance. He squinted. He tilted his head to one side, then the other. He took a few shuffling, wary steps forward, then tried the same routine again. After several tries, he was finally able to make out what Largo was pointing at--the wall, made of red stone already, was coated with the faint dark burgundy of dried blood. Someone had written the words "Forgive me Father, for I have sinned" over and over again. Guybrush took a step backwards.

"_You _did this?" he asked, horrified. "That--those dreams were real?"

Largo nodded. The grin on his face almost perfectly copied the one on the death's head mask Guybrush had seen one time too many. "Nightmares happen. I figured it was easier than kidnapping everybody and dragging them here for the whole...blood-letting thing. People might notice, y'know."

"How--how many people--"

Largo shrugged. "I can't count that high."

"So more than two?"

Largo punched him again, knocking him to the floor. This time he stayed down and kept his mouth shut. "Your stupid comments are going to get you into even bigger trouble than that one of these days, Threepwood." He shook his head.

Guybrush glared at him, trying to ignore the bitter taste of blood in his mouth. "Why, Largo?"

"I'm getting to that!" Largo snapped. He paused and took a deep breath before continuing. "You ever go to church, Threepwood?"

The first thing that came to Guybrush's mind was the First Church of LeChuck, Orthodox that used to be on the island. He decided not to mention that particular oddity. "No...why does it matter? It's not like we're here to talk about--"

Largo shook his head at him. "My father used to go all the time. Every day even, sometimes. I guess he felt guilty or something like that over stuff my grandfather'd done, stuff he'd done."

"Harassing the general populace?"

Largo rolled his one good eye. "My father didn't want to be like my grandfather, so he took me and ran for some stupid faraway island the first chance he got. He got all mixed up in the church and started going to confessionals every day. Every _day_, Threepwood! Somedays he'd take me along. You know what it's like, Threepwood, to be stuck outside a tiny little box listening to your father go on about all this stuff he'd done like it was something to be ashamed of?"

"But--"

"That," he said, pointing to the wall, "that's how confessions start. I heard that stupid phrase almost every day for nine years. Nine years, until I could get out of there and back to my grandfather."

Guybrush tilted his head at the wall again, then looked back at Largo. "So...what does it have to do with me? Or," he swallowed, thinking of Elaine for the first time in hours, "or Elaine?"

Largo grinned and drew out his knife again, slowly advancing on Guybrush. "You blew up LeChuck's fortress. You and everybody you know--it's _your_ fault I nearly died. You screwed up, Threepwood--I'm going to make sure it never happens again. It's a little thing called penance."

He swallowed. "You're going to give me an informative lecture and then send me on my way?"

"Not even close."

"Darn."

* * *

By the time the Voodoo Lady made it to the governor's rooms, Elaine was already pacing impatiently. The Voodoo Lady opened and closed the door as quietly as she could, then cleared her throat. "Mrs. Threepwood?"

Elaine jumped. "Oh, right..." She hurried over to the crib and picked Armena up. The girl burbled happily and made a grab for her hair. "There's not much time; LeChuck's already sent his forces out in longboats, but--I need you to take Armena where she'll be safe. Please, if LeChuck finds her here he'll kill her."

The Voodoo Lady frowned, staring at the floor. "I can't--"

"_Please_," Elaine interrupted. Her voice took on a pleading tone that startled even her. "I'm not asking you to watch after her long-term. It'll only be a few days at most--then I'll come and get her. Guybrush and I _both_ will."

The Voodoo Lady thought about this for a while and then nodded, holding her hands out. Elaine sighed with relief and kissed Armena once on the forehead, whispered a few words to her, and delicately handed her over to the Voodoo Lady.

The Voodoo Lady looked at the girl now squirming in her arms and shook her head sadly. "Mrs. Threepwood," she said, "you should come with us as well. It would be better if--"

Elaine shook her head. "No, no--go. I can't--I can't leave my citizens behind. Not now." She reached out and brushed her hand against Armena's. Out of habit, the girl latched onto Elaine's pinky and looked at her with sleepy eyes. "I want to," she whispered softly. "I just can't."

"I'm sure they would understand--"

"No--I can't run away now."

The Voodoo Lady smiled softly. "You're not running away from anything, Mrs. Threepwood."

"Besides," Elaine continued, lost in her own thoughts, "I should probably let myself be captured anyway. They'll take me back to Monkey Island, right? And Guybrush should still be there somewhere, if he's--" she broke off. "Just go. I hate drawn-out goodbyes."

"Very well." The Voodoo Lady inclined her head politely and, drawing Armena closer to her, stepped away. "Farewell and good luck." Elaine reluctantly pulled her hand away from Armena's grasp just before the Voodoo Lady disappeared in a flash of light.

She stood there for a few moments, pensive, before the sound of gunfire brought her back to reality. With grim determination, Elaine marched out of the room and grabbed a gun right out of the hands of a passing pirate. "You're not getting anywhere near me, LeChuck," she growled, heading for the roof of the fort.

* * *

Largo leaned in close, his knife against Guybrush's cheek. "I want you to be as scarred as I am, Threepwood. Then maybe you'll think twice before you go blowing up any fortresses."

"Wait!" Guybrush squeaked. "It was an accident I swear, I didn't mean to do it!"

"Yeah, right." Largo shook his head. "Likely story."

"No," Guybrush managed, "it really was an accident!"

"You're starting to tick me off, Threepwood." He tapped the sharp edge of the knife against Guybrush's cheek, just hard enough to draw a tiny bit of blood. "Now, do me a favor and read what it says on that wall there."

Guybrush's glance darted to the wall and then back to Largo. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, looking at Largo warily. "Why?"

Largo closed his eyes and let out a long, deep sigh--not that that helped calm his temper any. He grabbed Guybrush and slammed him against the raised stone that made up the dais in the room's center, moving the knife's edge down to his throat. "Because," he said lowly, "by now I've got your _wife_--yeah, I heard you got married, didn't believe it for a while--and she's on her way here. You want me to hurt her because you wouldn't be a nice sorry excuse for a pirate and do what I want?"

Guybrush turned pale. He closed his eyes, trying hard to think over the rising panic. "I don't--" he began, prepared to make some bold comment, but when he opened his eyes again and caught the malicious gleam in Largo's eye, he stopped. "No," he whispered at last, defeated.

Grinning like mad, Largo hauled him to his feet and pushed him in front of the wall. "Read it," he said again. "Nice and loud."

He glared but did as he was told, struggling to keep his voice steady. "'Forgive me Father...'"

* * *

Elaine threw her gun down and grabbed her hair in both hands, stifling the urge to scream. Beside her, face sweaty and streaked with dirt, Mr. Serand fired off one last shot over the fort wall and then looked as if he wanted to follow her lead. "They're fighting in the courtyard, Governor. We can't hold out much longer."

When she didn't respond with anything more than a slow, frustrated nod, he prompted her again. "Governor? What do you want me to do?"

"Keep fighting," Elaine managed through gritted teeth. "Guybrush will have things taken care of soon enough."

"With respects to your husband, Governor," he said, "I seriously doubt that his...erm, 'impeccable' timing will be of much use to us. I think it's time you considered just how much you can count on him in such situations--"

Elaine grabbed him by his lapels and glared. "He's my _husband_, Mr. Serand. I trust him." She let go of him and leaned against the wall, brushing some soot from her sleeve. "But you're right...I don't know how much longer we can last."

Serand nodded faintly. "We're prepared to fight 'till the end, Governor...well, the men who haven't run off, that is." He sighed.

"Thank you," she said, casting a wary eye to the stairs. Sounds of renewed fighting drifted up the staircase, louder than before. Elaine began to wonder if the fighting hadn't finally made it beyond the courtyard--they'd been waiting for it to ever since LeChuck's skeletons had breached the fort walls. "But that won't be necessary." She stood up and began dusting herself off, trying to make herself look more presentable.

Serand arched his eyebrows at her. "Governor?"

"I'm going to surrender, Mr. Serand." She adjusted her shirt sleeves and did her best to look nonchalant about the entire affair, but the best she could manage was a frightened, tired look. "Once they have me they'll leave. Take what men you have left and start rebuilding, putting out fires...anything. I'll be back."

He shook his head. "Governor, you can't just--"

"Do you have a better suggestion?"

"Well, no." He sighed and stood up as well, shaking her hand. "Good luck then, I suppose. My men will keep a careful watch for your return."

She nodded. "Good luck to you, too." With a final glance out to sea--and the handful of black-sailed ships resting there--Elaine turned and headed down the stairs, her hands in the air.

* * *

"'...for I have sinned.'"

Silence fell over the cavern. Guybrush shut his eyes, waiting for some sort of impending doom to hurry up and get there. Then, behind him, Largo laughed.

"Nice job, Threepwood!" Largo laughed again. He walked over to the wall and rested his hand against it. Some of the dried blood flaked and fell away. "See, this spell's a funny spell. It needs the person it's supposed to work against to talk to it, say the nice little phrase I made up, for it to work right. You just bound yourself _and_ everybody who's up on this wall here to _me_."

Guybrush flinched. He didn't feel any different, "bound" somehow, but he somehow didn't doubt the truth behind Largo's words. As subtly as he could, he began reaching into his pocket for the scroll. "So, uh, Largo," he said, trying to distract him, "what does this whole...gluing thing do anyway?"

"_Binding_, and it means that I get to beat you and your friends up whenever I want to. You're stuck here. You don't leave until and unless I say so--and I ain't going to let you go anywhere." He grinned. "The rest of the morons who decided to help you'll probably be showing up pretty quick now. The spell'll make them. And you can bet they'll blame you for it, too."

Guybrush shook his head. "They don't know how to get--"

"They'll know," Largo answered thinly. Then he changed into his LeChuck guise and walked over to the double doors, opened them, and shouted something about visitors at the guards. Guybrush took the moment Largo had his back to him to pull out the scroll, open it and toss the black ribbon to the ground--and then stare in disbelief.

_This_, he thought, looking at the parchment, _is not good._ But he took a deep breath anyway, shouting at the top of his lungs, "You! Hey you, over there!"

Largo turned around and stared at him. "Threepwood, what're you--" He stopped, noticing the scroll in Guybrush's hands, and made a mad dive for him. He shifted back to his normal form as he went.

"You fight like a cow!" Guybrush finished just as Largo slammed into his waist and knocked the wind right out of him. The scroll dropped from his hands and fluttered away. Largo, drawing his knife again, pinned Guybrush to the floor without saying anything. A grim silence followed.

After a while, Guybrush closed his eyes and let his head drop onto the floor with a slight thump. When a thump from beneath the surface of the cavern answered back, however, his eyes popped back open.

Largo's face screwed up into an expression that faintly resembled confusion. He reached out a hand and tapped it against the floor--and something answered back. "What did you just do, Threepwood?"

Guybrush shrugged. "I have _no_ idea."

The floor beneath them started to shake, just enough so that a tiny crack opened up nearby. Largo and Guybrush both instinctively moved away from it. As the tremors increased, dust and rock started falling down from the ceiling. Finally, the shaking stopped altogether and the crack, in a flurry of dust and flying rock, split wide open.

His eyes stinging from the dust, Guybrush couldn't see what had come flying out of the floor, but he heard it. "D'aargh!" an all-too-familiar voice shouted through the dust, "and ye be fightin' like a dairy farmer!"

* * *

The skeletons found Elaine walking down the flight of stairs leading to the main floor. They seized her immediately and took away the sword strapped to her hip. Elaine stared at some point above their bare skulls, doing her best to look the part of the strong-willed prisoner. When one of the skeletons roughly grabbed her wrists to tie them behind her back, though, she couldn't help but wince, and the disguise fell apart. One of them noticed and laughed--she glared, silencing him quickly.

"Just take me to LeChuck," she said at last, shaking a lock of hair out of her eyes. "Leave this island alone and I'll go with you--that's all I'm asking." The skeletons exchanged unreadable looks. Elaine sighed. "Look, if you've got some sort of lackey that I can talk to, maybe he'll understand me a little better than you--"

One of the skeletons behind her shoved her roughly, causing her to stagger into motion. The others took this as their cue and began leading her out of the fort. Two of them held her by the arms to prevent any sort of escape attempt.

As they left the fort and headed down towards the harbor, Elaine nearly choked from all the smoke in the air. It hadn't been nearly as bad up on the fort's roof--here, though, the devastation the armada had wreaked became all too clear. She couldn't see Puerto Pollo for all the smoke, but she had to assume that it was little more than rubble now. She sighed. _I should've wished you more than good luck, Mr. Serand_. She strained, too, to see any movement in the direction of Danjer Cove. _I hope the Voodoo Lady had the sense to take Mena someplace safe..._

She fixed her gaze on the ship in the harbor ahead after that last thought, concentrating on its ragged sails and literal skeleton crew. Her escorts pushed her into a longboat and took her to the ship, moving with deliberate speed. As they brought her up on deck, Elaine managed to get another glimpse at the island--and was relieved to see that the skeletons were as good as their word. They were leaving the island in droves.

One of the skeletons pushed her down into a seat near the bow of the ship and took up guard, watching her with a wary eye. Elaine glared at him once before sighing and leaning against the ship's rail. It promised to be a long trip.

* * *

Guybrush, coughing, drew away from the hole in the floor and began inching towards the doors--he hoped--in an attempt to get away. He didn't want to be stuck in a room with both Largo and LeChuck--not if he could help it. An ice-cold hand on his back stopped that plan.

"And just where do ye think ye're going, Sheepgood?"

Guybrush tilted his head back and peered up. Though his eyes were stinging from the dust, he could still make out a large form hovering over him, complete with dusty beard and dark eyes. He had to work hard not to shudder at the sight. "Uh," he said, swallowing, "I was looking for the exit, actually..."

LeChuck picked him up roughly by the shoulder and dragged him back towards the middle of the room. "Nice try."

He landed with a thud on the ground again, wincing as a fresh tremor sent more dust and rock crashing down. He heard Largo coughing beside him. "Nice going, Threepwood," Largo muttered. "What did you _do_?"

"I told you, I don't know!"

"Shut up, both of ye!"

Guybrush looked up, still coughing. As he watched, all the dust falling through the air slowed--and stopped. One particularly large speck, really more like a pebble, stopped just short of hitting him square on the nose. Then they began moving towards one spot in the room--the dense shadow that was, Guybrush assumed, LeChuck.

They picked up speed, spinning around and around in a vortex, gradually tightening their formation and drawing together. Then, finally, they all rushed towards the center--and LeChuck. In one short burst of light, the room was clear of dust; even the floor was swept clean.

LeChuck now floated before them. He was over seven feet tall; his head very nearly touched the ceiling. Dust surrounded his true form, a cracked stone demon with dark, soulless eyes. They glowed with a touch of inner fire, though, as if some part of his last form still lurked within. He laughed, seeing the look of shock on both Largo and Guybrush's faces.

"_You're_ the spirit who's supposed to help me?" Guybrush squeaked out after a long pause.

"Uh, Captain LeChuck, uh, sir," Largo added, ignoring Guybrush's comments and LeChuck's snort of derision, "I was just, uh, keeping your chair warm."

"Of course ye were, Largo." LeChuck grinned and floated over towards the throne. "This looks more like a chair for someone _yer_ size."

Largo coughed and swallowed. "Well, uh, yeah, well...I had to shrink it a little because, uh, you know...yeah."

LeChuck bellowed loud enough to shake more of the ceiling down on them. Guybrush instinctively scooted out of the way, leaving a clear path between Largo and LeChuck. "Ye thought ye'd take my place, did ye?" LeChuck snarled. "Ye can't ever take the place of _me_!" He turned around in a circle, surveying the place. "Bah, ye don't even know how to build a fortress right!"

"Well, uh...sorry."

LeChuck closed the distance between them in the blink of an eye. Grabbing Largo by the throat, he lifted him into the air and shook him. Largo made a strangled protest while LeChuck looked at Guybrush. Swallowing, the mighty pirate scooted backwards. "I'll deal with ye later, Thirkweed. Me old right-hand man and I need to be havin' a little chat."

* * *

Elaine sighed and shifted in her seat, trying to get more comfortable. The skeletons seemed to have developed a different method of traveling to Monkey Island than the usual "cook up something stupid and then pass out" routine. They'd been sailing through thick fog for several hours now--the only sign that they were still in the ocean at all was the constant splashing of water against the hull.

The skeleton currently on guard seemed, surprisingly, just as uneasy as she was. He kept shifting from foot to foot and glancing at her occasionally for no reason. _Please let that mean Guybrush's won,_ she thought. It wasn't until she looked down at her own feet that she found the real reason the skeleton kept looking at her strangely--her feet were transparent, like that of a ghost's.

Elaine just stared at them for a long time. "Well," she said at last, quietly, "I'd like to see Guybrush explain _this_."

* * *

While LeChuck was busy yelling something about how hard it was to find good, competent help, Guybrush inched for the door. It was slow going--he didn't want to tip LeChuck off, and he was more concerned with other thoughts, now. _Some ally_, he thought, shaking his head. _Yeah, that's great, an ally who kills me and steals my wife. That's the last time I go to the Voodoo Lady for advice._

Grumbling under his breath, Guybrush finally made it to the door--and there he abandoned all attempts at secrecy, jumping to his feet and running out of there as fast as his feet would carry him. Largo, though, noticed his exit--he could hear his shout of "Hey! You can't leave! I didn't say you could leave!" following him down the passage.

He kept running, taking twists and turns through the cave system at random, hoping he'd find the exit by chance. But the shaking caused by LeChuck's reappearance extended farther than he thought--he kept having to double back, finding a tunnel collapsed or otherwise blocked. Finally he made one backtrack too many and rounded a corner to find himself face-to-face with LeChuck, who did not look at all pleased. Largo peered out from behind him.

"I thought I told ye to wait, Dripweed!"

"_Threepwood_!"

Largo sighed. "He should've been stuck in that room! I don't get it, I did everything right, he said the stupid words..." He aimed to hit Guybrush upside the head, but LeChuck held him back.

"Largo, ye're even more incompetent than _he_ is. Don't ye know that ye've got to have _everyone_ ye hate _and_ everyone who might've helped Sheepgood here?"

Largo blinked. "Well, yeah, but I got--"

LeChuck rolled his eyes. "I'm thinkin' ye might've forgotten one of those ones ye hate. _Me_!"

Largo looked as if he might hit himself.

* * *

It wasn't until her knees flickered, faded, and turned transparent that Elaine finally realized what was going on. By then the skeletons had decided to leave her well enough alone and the same transformation had started happening to her hands--the rope binding them fell to the deck, though she didn't feel it slip free. "The hands of Midas--but...oooh, _Guybrush Ulysses Threepwood_, when I get my hands on you--!"

* * *

LeChuck brought them both back to the throne room by their shirt collars, depositing them on the dais. Guybrush cringed, waiting for LeChuck to beat him up or take out a voodoo doll and start torturing him, but he did no such thing. His attention was still focused on Largo.

"I don't know how ye survived that explosion, Largo, but I'll give ye two choices." Largo grumbled something unrepeatable in return. LeChuck, unfazed, continued. "Ye can go back to bein' my henchman...or ye can go back to bein' my henchman."

"'S not much of a choice."

"I could kill ye, if ye rather." He glared. "I can get rid of ye and Sheepgood at the same time!"

"_Threepwood_!"

Largo rubbed his one good eye and sighed. "Will you _stop_ correcting him already? He ain't listening."

"Well...er..." Guybrush trailed off, sighing.

"And Sheepgood?"

He opened his mouth to correct him, but a look from Largo and a flash of his knife changed Guybrush's mind in a hurry. "What?"

"Where be Elaine, eh?" LeChuck leered.

Guybrush, on the other hand, lied. He closed his eyes for a moment and brought to mind memories of that nightmare, not even trying to suppress them. When he opened his eyes again, he looked to be near tears. "Largo killed her."

LeChuck slammed his fists into the ceiling with such a fury that he nearly brought down the entire cavern on their heads. Largo shouted "He's lying!" but it was lost in the tremors and falling rock.

Guybrush rolled out of the way just as LeChuck picked up the throne and hurled it at both of them, sending stone crashing and clattering across the floor. Largo dived out of the way as well, drawing his dagger. "I told you he's lying, the stupid no good son of a--"

LeChuck didn't hear Largo's protests and didn't seem to care. He picked Largo up by the foot, dangling him in midair. "Ye always were incompetent, ye stupid midget!"

One large chunk of rock fell near Guybrush's head, clipping the side of his face and stunning him. He watched, half-dazed, as LeChuck dangled Largo over the crack in the floor. Lava boiled just a few feet from the surface.

"W--wait!" Largo squeaked out. "Don't you want her dead?"

"I want her _undead_. There be a difference."

"Well...how do you know she's not a ghost?"

LeChuck paused, carefully considering this option. "Well, I didn't think of that."

"You never do," Largo spat back angrily. He paused for a moment, regaining some of his composure. Even half-dazed Guybrush could tell he was planning something--he recognized the cold, calculating glint in his eye.

The cavern shook again, and it was no mere tremor. A large chunk of rock swung down from the ceiling, narrowly missing Guybrush and aiming for LeChuck with all the force it could muster. LeChuck tried to stop it, but he only succeeded in slowing it down and turning it partially out of the way. It took a small chunk out of his left shoulder, about the size of Guybrush's head, and then crashed harmlessly into the wall.

"D'aaaargh!" LeChuck shouted, tossing Largo across the room. He landed with a sickening thud against another wall. "Ye thought ye could defeat me, did ye? Well, we'll just have to be seein' about that."

He flew up into the ceiling, disappearing as if he were no more than a ghost. Silence fell over the room save for the occasional sound of falling dust. Guybrush sat up, rubbing the side of his head. His hand came away bloody. "Oh, great."

Suddenly the entire room began to shake, more forcefully than before. An entire section of the cave's wall and ceiling caved in, taking with it the bloody writings and Largo LaGrande. Guybrush looked away, cringing.

"Aye, 'tis a good day ta be dead!"

LeChuck, returning through the newly-created gap in the ceiling, looked only briefly at his work before turning to Guybrush. "As for ye, Sheepgood..."

"It's _Threepwood_." Guybrush wearily pulled himself to his feet, shaking off specks of dust and rock. His skin had turned unusually pale as if he were more a ghost than flesh and bone; he imagined that he must look half-dead already. He certainly felt it.

LeChuck, though, wasn't impressed with the display. He sighed and rolled his eyes. "Yes, yes, enough with yer heroics already. Where is she?"

Guybrush coughed. "I told you, she's dead."

LeChuck stared at him for a minute until he was certain Guybrush wasn't going to provide any more information. He shook his head. Another tremor shook the cavern, and from the expression on LeChuck's face it wasn't one he'd brought on. "I'll search the entire Caribbean if I have to, Dripweed, but I'll find her, don't ye worry. And if she be dead, then I'll just be learnin' how to turn her into a zombie."

They stared at each other for a long moment, Guybrush in silent defiance and LeChuck in hesitation. A new tremor brought down more falling rock and LeChuck decided it was time to leave. "Ye'll be buried alive, Threepwood," he taunted, "and I'll have made Elaine my bride!"

Laughing, LeChuck disappeared through the hole in the ceiling into the warm Caribbean sunlight. Guybrush watched him leave without saying a word. A moment later, the rest of the ceiling caved in.

* * *

Elaine drifted through the halls of Plunder Island's fort with a sort of melancholy air she assumed that all ghosts took. The moment she'd fully transformed, she'd escaped the skeletons and fled back to Plunder Island. Mr. Serand and a few handfuls of survivors were sifting through the ruins of Puerto Pollo, but she was very careful to avoid them.

The fort was little more than rubble and smoking ruin--the skeletons had destroyed it on their way out, she suspected--but she didn't really care. She was more concerned with not accidentally walking through a wall--she found that more than a little disconcerting.

She heard a crash downstairs and a muttered series of curses. Carefully, Elaine floated down the stairs and peered around a corner into the burning courtyard.

LeChuck pulled himself away from the pile of stone he'd nearly gotten himself trapped under and looked around. "Elaine!" he yelled. "Elaine, where be ye? I've been lookin for ye all over this blasted place!"

Elaine moved back around the corner as quickly as she could, but the motion didn't escape LeChuck's attention. "So it _is_ true then," he breathed. She started to run away, but he was faster. He caught up with her and blocked her path, leering.

"I never thought I'd see the day ye joined the undead, Elaine." He held his hand out to her. "Come with me, and I'll make ye queen of the dead, just like I promised."

"Er--" Elaine looked at LeChuck, wide-eyed, then flitted through the nearest wall. "Sorry!" she shouted back. "I'm washing my hair for the next few decades!"

LeChuck's shoulders slumped. "D'aaargh! It's always the hair with that lass!" He took to searching the halls again, though this time with a much more frustrated attitude. "Elaine...?"

* * *

The Voodoo Lady was in the middle of unpacking her things in her new shop on Lucre Island when she came across the strand of voodoo beads. What had once been a perfect strand of green beads--the same Guybrush had touched not more than a week earlier--was now nothing more than a ghost of its former self. Her hand passed straight through them on first touch; she had to summon all her old knowledge of ghosts and spirits to cast the proper spell to pick them up.

When she managed to lift them up into the light--they nearly disappeared, even in the dim light of the Mystes o'Tyme Marshe--she tried every spell she could think of to return them to their former state. Nothing worked.

"The hands of Midas..." she murmured, staring at the ghostly strand. They hadn't even retained their former color. "Cyrano, you old fool...what have you done?" And then, with a slow shake of her head, "And what have I let you do?"

Sighing, the Voodoo Lady set the beads down on an empty table and turned to the store's newest addition--who was making a grab for one of the voodoo dolls lying in a nearby open crate. The Voodoo Lady quickly pushed it out of reach and looked down at the girl.

"I have a feeling," she said slowly, with a note of sadness in her voice, "that we are going to have to learn to coexist for quite a while."

Armena sneezed.


End file.
